Art of Love
by dauphinemarielouise
Summary: Three years after Art of Peace and Harry and Draco's relationship has deteriorated beyond recognition. Harry wants a family, and Draco becomes involved in a controversial political movement that could tear them apart . . .
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is for everyone who loved the first story. I was going to save this for the summer, when I had more time, but I ended up having a fall and hurting my knee so I have all the time in the world now, lol. This story takes places three years in the future, and Draco and Harry's relationship has deteriorated beyond recongition._

* * *

Chapter 1:

It was raining, but if it didn't rain in London, it wouldn't be normal, especially in the springtime. Harry adjusted his jacket- it was the brand-new leather bomber that Draco had picked out for his birthday last year and it fit quite well- but with this humidity in the air, it clung to his arms and made him feel sticky and uncomfortable. Harry didn't even bother trying to tame his hair this morning- it was going to be worse than the norm; standing up to the left and right, all cowlicks and mess and godsawful nonsense.

These were the sort of days Harry wished Draco lived in a wizarding neighborhood like Occasion Alley, or in a nice flat off Diagon. Instead Draco had to be contrary and find his own way, a lovely penthouse loft in Camden Town that Harry felt was a bit more suited to an artist or a philosopher than a school teacher. Not that Harry would mention that to Draco- gods forbid. Draco had already made it crystal clear that he loved his flat and had no desire to move.

Harry sighed. Nearly three years of dating and Draco was no more interested in living together than he had been at the beginning. Sometimes he would stay at Harry's, and other times he'd ask Harry to tea when he wasn't busy, but Draco showed no interest in moving in to one house.

The reasons were all the same- they rowed too much, they were happier like this, Draco needed the space, the papers would make a fuss- but all Harry heard was a resounding _you aren't wanted._

Harry apparated up instead of taking the lift as Draco's building was owned by a wizard, and walked inside. On Draco's old rocking hair from his room at Andromeda's Kent cottage was Draco's cat Allison. Allison had been a gift from Teddy on Draco's twenty-fourth birthday, and everyone had thought that Draco wouldn't have taken to something as temperamental as himself. Instead the fat brown tabby had three great loves: Draco, Teddy, and the rocker; and she refused to be parted from any, and loved using her claws on anyone else. Draco thought she was charming.

As soon as Harry came in, Allison looked up and gave him a look which said _I'm not impressed even if my master is_ and then went back to sleep; curling into a crescent moon shape.

Draco's flat was a pristine white-on-white with high ceilings and rich jeweled toned curtains that he had made especially from a draper. On the floor was a Moroccan rug, gold tray with a green and gold tea set; and the fireplace was hung with a photograph of the trip Teddy, Andromeda and Draco had taken to Egypt- Harry hadn't gone because of work. He still regretted that.

There were two bedrooms- one was Draco's and the other he used as a study to tutor pre-Hogwarts students who couldn't afford a preparatory academy's fees. Harry had no idea where Draco was at this particular moment- he pushed open the door to Draco's brown and grey bedroom but no one was there.

He looked in the study-there were the familiar Arthimancy charts on the walls and letters from parents asking him to focus on this topic or that, but nothing much out of the norm. Harry sighed. Draco had obviously forgotten they were supposed to meet up to go to dinner at Hermione's and Ron's today- unless he had gone there already. But Harry doubted that. Draco barely got on with Ron after the case with Avery, and not at all with Hermione. He wouldn't show up at their doorstep unannounced.

As Harry was about to _nox_ the lights in Draco's study he noticed a slip of parchment trapped between two of the floorboards. He bent down and retrieved it.

_Dear Draco,_

_It's so good hearing from you again after the Convention. No, we haven't found anyone to replace dear old Freddie as the pre-Arithmancy teacher, you know how things are up here- our budget is tight and morale is at an all time low. I won't lie to you and say it will be easy, my lad- but I won't beat around the bush and say you wouldn't be helping us out of a jam by taking her place._

_I remain, your friend and colleague,_

_Leopold Pennyworth,_

_Headmaster, The Darby Wizarding State School_

Harry glared at the letter. Draco had been writing to the headmaster of a school in Darby? Why? As far as Harry had known, Draco had enjoyed his life tutoring- he had liked being able to have the flexibility to teach what he wanted and what year he wanted. Of course, Draco had been upset that he lost his position at the London Nursery School when the scandal had broken out about he and Harry, but Harry had thought he had been over it. It was three years ago.

Darby. Was Draco really serious about moving all the way to _Darby_? Darby was a small magical enclave in the North of the UK, one of the last stops on the Hogwarts Express before Hogsmeade. Harry couldn't believe that Draco could be serious.

Harry sighed. He didn't know what to think. He was furious, hurt, confused, and jealous- yes _jealous_. He couldn't imagine making tea without Floo-ing Draco to ask permission and now Draco was nearly planning to uproot himself without so much as a by your leave.

But Harry didn't have time for this. He stalked over to the Floo and called out the name and flat number of Ron and Hermione's posh apartment building.

"Harry," Hermione beamed, and looked behind him. "Where's Malfoy?"

Harry resisted the urge to spit out _Darby._ Instead he sulked out, "Unavoidably detained."

Ron laughed- he had never known anyone to be _unavoidably detained_ where there was food about. Harry had the feeling that Draco and Ron had buried the hexes during Harry's long drawn out illness, when Avery had injured him so badly. Ron never said so, but Harry though he rather liked having a pint and a few rounds of chess in Draco's company-especially since Ron won more than he lost.

"Really, Harry," Ron said, stealing a canapé which earned him a slap on the hand from his wife. "What's happened? Is Malfoy feeling alright?"

Harry sighed. It was times like these that he wished he had worse friends than he had. Everyone had accepted his relationship with Draco so easily- it had been as simple as telling Mrs. Weasley that he loved Draco and they were as good as married in her humble opinion. But Harry still hated telling his friends about any disagreements- then Draco was sure to be that Slytherin git and Harry was a thick sod blinded by love. Harry_ hated_ that feeling.

"He's gone to visit someone in Darby," Harry said, trying to phrase this as diplomatically as possible. "A friend for the day." Hermione looked at Harry keenly. For being the one out of the pair that he'd rather have not have been putting the pieces together, Hermione looked increasingly as though she was coming to understand why he was upset. Hermione turned to look at Ron.

"Go into the kitchen, Ron, and pretend you're seeing to dinner, when all you're doing is poking a finger into my cherry tart." Ron stuck out his tongue at Hermione's back but went easily enough- Hermione's tart was delicious.

Hermione sat down closer to Harry and smiled, patting the seat cushion with a grin until Harry nudged a bit tighter in. "How are things with Malfoy, Harry? You two rowing about nonsense again?"

"Haven't been!" Harry protested. But it wasn't any use- Hermione knew his temper; he had a tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and to explode while he did it. Draco was worse, he kept everything bottled in- Harry never knew if Draco was upset, or happy or annoyed until it was right near too late and what he did exploded in his face. Sometimes Harry set Draco off, but mostly Harry felt as though he was living in a minefield- Harry didn't know if he was going to step into something that might trigger a bit of Draco's past.

"Hmm," Hermione sighed, unconvinced. "I know you Harry, and if you care about Malfoy you should actually talk to him, instead of acting like a spoilt child and letting whatever's bothering you drive you into a frenzy."

"It isn't that simple," Harry groused, warming to the topic. "Draco doesn't _talk_- not unless he wants to. And he can distract me."

Hermione blushed. Harry knew that she thought he was thinking about sex. And she would be right- Draco had the advantage there, Harry didn't know how to be coy or seductive, he just knew how to _go. _But there were other ways as well- Draco knew how to do his head in in a conversation, and how to trip him up and make him seem the guilty party at the end of a long quarrel when Harry would feel certain at the beginning that he had the advantage. So a lot of the time Harry would avoid things. And Draco, of course, would do whatever he liked, and then there would be more mines for Harry to dodge until he felt like he was winded from running an obstacle course until the next bloody row.

"Just try to talk," Hermione said optimistically. "I'm sure you have to come up for air sometimes. Ron, can you bring in the food please?"

"All of it?" Ron winged, his mouth full of something. Harry rolled his eyes and got up.

"I'll help you," Harry said, going to the kitchen. Ron was leaning against the counter, enjoying a rather large slice of Hermione's cherry tart. Harry put his hand in his mouth to cover his laughter.

"It's delicious," Ron sighed. "It was Angelina's recipe but Hermione adds something extra to it, it tastes like cinnamon and fall when you bite down into it. Go on Harry, fetch yourself a fork from the drawer there."

Harry knew that he shouldn't- but the delicious scent of cloves and allspice drew him to the tart like a siren's song. Harry went to the drawer and retrieved a fork and dug into Ron's slice. It was heavenly.

"It's really good," Harry sighed. "Hermione's come a long way from cooking rock hard biscuits like Hagrid, hasn't she?"

Ron didn't laugh, but stuck his chin out and motioned over his shoulder. Just like in fifth year when they had _accio'd _out Hermione's study sheets from her school bag, they had been caught red handed by their best mate doing something they knew they probably should have been, _and_ Ron was going to face more of the blame. Harry winced a bit for him; Hermione could give a good scolding if she had the mind for it.

Instead Hermione just laughed.

"There's milk in the cooling cupboard," she offered generously, with only a little bit of a pursed lip. "And cut me a slice, won't you, Ron- I guess I'll have to save the lasagna for your lunch bag tomorrow."

Harry grinned, sitting down on the floor in some of his best robes to enjoy milk and cherry tart with his best friends. Sometimes he wondered what he was doing with himself at twenty five; unmarried and a list of goals that he had thrown away like Quidditch glove that no longer fit- but with his best friends alongside him he never felt truly alone.

* * *

A few hours later and Harry could tell that Ron and Hermione wanted their privacy back and that he was overstaying his welcome. Harry missed living with his mates in a funny, nostalgic way- it was like he could never go home again, but he could visit. It was sad. He and Draco still didn't live together. Harry understood Draco's reasons as to why- after the horrible accident and deceit with Algernon Bones it was likely that Draco only felt comfortable in his flat and didn't truly feel comfortable yet with commitment. But that didn't mean that Harry didn't crave those things all the more.

Sometimes Harry wished that Draco would talk to him about Bones. Draco knew all about Ginny- why it hadn't worked, what she was like, everything. They had even spoken and were cordial- as cordial as a man sleeping with your ex-boyfriend and your first love could be. But Bones was dead. Harry couldn't go to him and try to be friendly, or make amends, or try to get to know him. It made Harry feel strange and oddly envious and confused.

Harry walked through the flat. Draco was seated on one of the red velvet chaises that had originally been at the Occasion Alley townhouse. Draco had had it reupholstered in gold and jewel tones to match his theme and Harry had always looked at that chair and the green matching settee askance. Finally, one afternoon, he had come from the Auror's pub the Red Responders, and had spent the day systematically shagging Draco over the arm of the settee whilst glaring at the chaise until his orgasm chased away all his emotions of lust, jealousy and confusion. Draco had been delighted and had coaxed him around for another go, but Harry had complied only guiltily, horrified that years later he was still twisted with envy for a deceased man.

"You're here," Harry said, looking at Draco. Draco had his cat Allison by his feet, and he was reading a tome about children's education. Allison rolled over and purred and Draco smiled and patted her paw, amused.

Draco looked up after marking his page.

"I've been here," Draco said easily. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad day?"

Harry felt the usual feeling of walking on eggshells. If he confronted Draco he'd be in for another massive row and if he didn't and they went to bed and shagged, or had a cuddle and a rest; he'd drive himself mad wondering if Draco was planning to move up north without telling him.

"We were supposed to go to Ron and Hermione's," Harry said, forgetting his brain's admonition be cautious, deciding to jump in with both feet- he was a Gryffindor after all. "Where were you at six?"

"Merlin," Draco sighed. "I completely forgot. It's probably best that you went without me, you had more fun anyway."

That threw Harry for a loop. He had had fun- but he thought he would have more fun with Draco present, Draco was his bloody partner after all; they were meant to go to dos like this together! Harry stared at Draco's gorgeous, complacent face whilst he felt astonished.

"Why do you have to go and say rot like that," Harry sighed, throwing up his hands and pacing the room. "We would have had fun- Ron likes you, Hermione gets on with you now- it would have been a good time, Draco, honestly-"

"_Honestly,_" Draco scoffed. "What rot! You want to hear honesty- fine, I'll let you have it, and for free since I'm in a rather good mood today. Your friends _hate_ me. Weasley tolerates me after the case because he sees me as a human being and for that I give him credit, but his girlfriend Granger _loathes _me, especially since she knows about the affair. The rest are either jealous I take up so much of your time, or are indifferent and waiting for the day you drop me like a cursed wand. So let's not be stupid, Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He hated when Draco went in on his friends- Draco could say whatever he wanted about Harry himself when they were rowing, but when Draco went in on the Weasleys it made him sick. The Weasleys were the only family Harry had since he had lost, or had wanted to lose his own and since Harry had taken up with Draco it would seem he wouldn't have any more. Couldn't Draco leave them alone? They were trying their best to accept this situation, but it was hard, especially since Draco had done them all damage.

"Oh, and you know how to choose your friends wisely," Harry tossed back and how he wished he could shut his damned mouth the moment it came out. Like he needed reminding of Parkinson, living in exile for wishing him dead, or Crabbe, dead.

Draco turned white as a sheet of parchment. "You _are_ low, Potter," Draco hissed, his mouth twisted into something ugly, not like the soft, supple pout that Harry loved to kiss. Gods, Harry was an idiot. He had meant to ask Draco about one thing and it had twisted into something ugly all over again.

Harry sat down on the floor and ran his hand through his hair. "I didn't mean it, Draco," he muttered. "It's just that you're always provoking me, bloody hell! All I wanted to know was where you were this afternoon."

"Why would I tell you a sodding thing now," Draco said, crossing his arms. "All you do is kick a person when they're down, and I've no need to hear you quarreling again with me about this or that. I'm so sick of it, Potter- you're literally the most unsupportive partner ever."

Harry glared as Draco went to a gilt oriental box that he kept above the fireplace and pulled out a fag. Harry _hated_ that Draco had started smoking in secret after the press had started covering them as a matter of course, but the more Harry had protested, the more Draco had smoked; especially after Harry had come out of intensive care in hospital, and had gone through the grueling rehabilitation regime in order to rejoin the Aurors.

Draco took out his wand and lit the cigarette with _incendio_ right in front of his face, a thing both dangerous and oddly sensual, something Harry tried to avoid thinking about at the moment.

"I know you went to Darby today," Harry said, tossing out his bit of information like the prize at the end of a box of _Wizard Oh's._ "So why don't you tell me why you went?"

Draco purposely blew the smoke of his exhale out right in Harry's face, and Harry tried to avoid the taunt- he'd never tried one of the fags, he always thought smoking was rather stupid.

"If you already went looking through my desk," Draco sneered, not giving Harry the benefit of the doubt, "Then you know where I went and why I was there, don't you?"

Harry stiffened at Draco's response. "And you're taking the job- going to Darby?"

Draco's eyes softened for a moment as he flicked the ashes of his cigarette into a gaudy little ashtray which said _Brighton_ in flashy letters on the bottom- Cho had brought it back from her hols last year, and Draco only kept it around so she could see it whenever she came for tea.

"I took the job." Draco said evenly. "I don't know what the problem with that is- it was a good job and a challenge, and I don't think you should expect me to waste my talents as an educator tutoring spoilt wealthy Ministry families' brats for the rest of their life."

"Didn't you fit that neat little description?" Harry laughed rather meanly. Gods, he knew he wasn't even giving Draco the chance to explain his reasoning, but he was terrified- if Draco moved away it would change everything, including their relationship- and Draco was just treating it as a lark.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're still such a child, Potter- if it doesn't directly affect you, it doesn't exist."

Harry sighed. He knew he was being selfish, but so was Draco- they both weren't giving each other a chance to explain. Draco leapt up from the couch and went into his room. Harry followed him and said nothing as Draco began packing up clothing from his closet and shoving it into a duffle bag. This was another one of Draco's lovely evasion tactics- if an argument, or a day wasn't going in his favor he ran away, just as Teddy had when Andromeda hadn't brought him a new broom on his last birthday.

"Are you seriously leaving?" Harry said, wishing he could will out the note of concern and upset from his voice-Draco could always best him by leaving-Harry, for all his faults couldn't leave Draco, not ever-he loved him too bloody much.

"Of course I am," Draco snorted, bending over the bed to get a pair of shoes and his broom. "I'm sick of being treated like a naughty child and of you acting like you think you can be my father, Potter! Enjoying rifling through my flat!"

Harry watched, his mouth gaping open as Draco unhooked the safety latch from the windowpane and pushed the window open. "Well, only naughty children run away, Malfoy!" Harry retorted.

But it was too late- the inky night had swallowed Draco's figure up, and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Wow I just want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing and loving the first chapter of this fic. I know a lot of you were really curious if there would be a happy ending, but we're only on the first and second chapters, you know? I mean, I haven't even *written* the ending yet. All I know is that it will see Teddy going to Hogwarts. That's the ending I've been seeing in my head for a while now, and that's the only spoiler I'm giving away, hehe. _

_ Please review and enjoy, everyone._

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Chapter 2:

Draco relaxed back in the huge claw foot tub of the Sirens Hotel and Spa. He hit the tap for more bubbles with ill humor and lit another fag, stubbing out the butt in his mouth with a pursed lip. Every few weeks it was the same thing with Harry; he would run off to see his friends and come back convinced that everything that Draco did and said was down to the fact that he was a Slytherin without an unimpeachable war record. Draco was bloody tired of it- for three years he had felt as though he had to live up to the ideals of the Weasleys, the Ministry, and then on top of that, Harry himself; who was a mass of contradictions.

Sisyphus had an easier time with that sodding rock.

Draco didn't know- on the one hand he supposed he did want to impress Harry's lot- the Weasleys and the Gryffindors- but on the other hand, he didn't really want to be arsed. He didn't understand them, and they didn't understand him, and Draco felt as though justifying his life was an exhausting waste of time. Harry was meant to be his partner, but he immediately saw the worst of him. On the rare days that he didn't, Draco felt as though Harry was influenced by his friends to see whatever Draco had done was suspect. It was a lot of 'be careful Harry's', and 'I'm sure that's not what he _meant'- _enough was left to interpretation to feed Harry's jealousy and to make Draco look like a git every time.

Draco blew out some smoke and flicked some ashes over the side of the tub uncaringly. Frankly, he was paying a great deal to get away from Harry for a few days; the Sirens was the most expensive wizarding hotel in Essex. It would take Harry a few days more of looking for him before he finally managed to find Draco, or before the press finally caught on to Draco's location. Draco needed the time away. Things between Harry and Draco hadn't been working for a long time and he bloody needed some perspective, and London, with all the rags and gossip and nonsense, was not a town where perspective was easily found.

It was so bloody hard- Draco _loved_ Harry- loved him more than he'd ever loved anyone except his aunt and cousin. But he didn't think they understood each other. It was like one of them spoke English and the other German- every few words were remarkably similar, but when you got down to the count, no one was actually speaking to each other. It did Draco's head in- he was mentally exhausted from the fights and the rows, and the nonsense and the people pleasing- he had had all of that his entire childhood up to Voldemort and after the war he had sworn never to do that again.

He had no idea why he was even doing it now.

Love was making a fool out of him and Draco did _not_ appreciate being made a fool of.

Draco hit the drain and turned on the fresh water, rising off the bubbles from body, before reaching for the fluffy white monogrammed robe. He lit another cigarette- whenever he and Harry got into a blazing row he tended to smoke like a faulty chimney and it was a shit habit to have. Draco dressed in a pair of jeans and a jumper and walked into the romantic-themed bedroom, with its red and white huge bed.

Draco snorted and bypassed it and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the marble fireplace. "Auror dispatch!" he shouted.

It took a minute, but thankfully he even got the right person on the first try. Cho looked up at him gleefully, her earpiece glinting as mischievously as her eyes.

"How many times has Potter been over there, Chang?" Draco smirked. If Cho was that happy it was only because Harry, her least favorite childhood ex, was in some bad way.

"Seventeen times, last count," Cho laughed. "He doesn't believe that I don't know where you are _not_ that I've ever told him before when you've left him and I _did_ know. Where are you anyway- I know you're not in London because you would have made the papers already- Harry went out to eat yesterday with George Weasley and his wife to that new place and you weren't photographed. Made the top of all three of the rags."

Draco tensed. It did upset him that Harry could go out to eat as though it were nothing that Draco had gone off and left him, but then again Draco _had_ played this card before. He was rather like that boy and the wolf in the Muggle tale one of his students had told him about. _And_ Draco was he was still cross with Harry for never giving him the benefit of the doubt and running off with his mates to whinge the moment Draco's back was turned, and this rather proved his point.

"I'm in Essex," Draco sighed, reaching for his pack of cigarettes- it was empty. He tossed it behind him. "The Sirens, I knew that if I stayed in London I'd be papped and It was the bloody last thing I wanted- I'm sick of it, all of it, Cho, and this time I really think I'm nearing the breaking point."

"I'll come over when my shifts done," Cho smiled sympathetically. "I'll bring you up some curry and another pack of fags and you can smoke two at a time and tell me why Harry Potter is indeed the love rat the papers say he is."

Draco laughed.

* * *

Cho came in the Floo under a heavy _glamour _that made her look like an overweight Englishwoman with black hair. With an angry swipe of her wand she undid the _glamour_ and dropped the bag of takeaway on the griffin-foot table in the small dining area that was set in the middle of the alcove. Draco lit the silver candelabra and set of two candlesticks while Cho saw to shrinking her overlarge clothes.

"You must be the commonest aristocrat ever," Cho laughed, back to her usual pretty self as she doled out the plastic utensils. "Why didn't you just order in room service?"

"Two reasons," Draco said, blissfully lighting the first of his fags. "One is that if I take out money from our joint account Harry will know where I am. The other is that the porter will sell a story that I've run off on Harry and make money off it."

Cho shook her head. "I don't know how you live with all of that, Draco. If it was me, I wouldn't know what's real and what was false in my relationship half the time."

Draco shrugged, balancing his cigarette on the corner of his cap of butterbeer. Frankly sometimes he felt that way, too. Sometimes the press made him out to be the good school teacher done wrong by the perverted lechery of the lost Boy-Who-Lived. At other times he was made to seem the seductive son of two Death Eaters; the son of those monsters who had hosted lecherous parties, and turned their son into a wily deviant. Harry ignored it, but Draco couldn't- it was funny at times and hateful at others. But present, always present.

"What's he done this time?" Cho sighed. "Last time it was that row about wanting to go off to Chudley for a weekend with Ron, or was that the time before? Oh, and then there was the time he accused you of selling Bones' flat because you had still had _feelings_ for him?"

Draco winced. "I forgot that we were supposed to go to dinner at Weasley and Granger's. And he went through my things."

Cho dropped her fork. "You're not actually serious. And missing out on dinner at Ron and Hermione's- what did you miss- another dry roast like the last time you went?"

Draco smirked-that roast had been so dry he'd nearly drank his bodyweight in water and ended up half the night in the loo.

"It isn't that, you know, Cho-it's the bloody distrust in the whole thing," Draco put down his fork and picked up his fag and inhaled. On his exhale his spoke. "Everything with him is that I'm planning something or if I'm not planning something I'm being hateful about his precious friends. He never lets me tell him anything in the timing that I want to tell him anything- so of _course_ once again I come off looking like 'Draco Malfoy demon Death Eater' whilst he was the one digging through my papers."

"What did he see?" Cho asked eagerly, putting down her bottle of butterbeer and cozying up to listen. Sometimes Draco got the sinking suspicion that Cho Chang lived a bit vicariously through him, but she was such a good friend that he didn't mind it- and when it came to slagging the Weasleys off she was as bad as anyone-she had had a very short fling with one of the older Weasley brothers that had ended badly.

"I had been writing to a friend of my old Headmistress', Livina. She set me up with the tutoring and also with a few contacts of hers in the education world. I've kept connected, going to all the Conventions and everything- if Harry thinks I'm going to stop my career he's got another thing coming."

Draco lit another cigarette. "Well, I became friendly with this Headmaster up in Darby- it's a state school, and he says it'll be a proper challenge. So I went up a few days ago to meet with him."

"Oh," Cho said with vicious glee. "Harry will never accept that, you moving away. He's always got to be in control, with all his dreams and plans, poor love."

Draco frowned and stared into his carton of food- it was those dreams and plans that he hated to upset, as much as he loved Harry. Draco had learned long ago that he couldn't be all things to all people. But he did want to make Harry and himself happy. If it was just Harry and himself, alone on an island somewhere for a month and he could explain everything out to him, honestly without any interference, Draco knew that everything could be as settled as it once was in the beginning between them. But that was as impossible as a dream, and Draco had to live his life and hope Harry would support him.

"I don't know what to do, Cho," Draco finally admitted, taking another sip of his butterbeer. "It's like he's a Muggle and I'm a wizard- we're two different kinds of people."

Cho shrugged. "Don't ask me, darling- none of my relationships last longer than a month- I can't stand the idea of a commitment."

A rough banging came on the door and Draco got up very calmly and lit another cigarette. It only could be one person- Harry. The paparazzi wouldn't be able to get inside a posh hotel, up the lift and dare to bang on his door. Room service or any other wizard would treat him with kid gloves and fire call first- Harry Potter's partner always got the best of treatments at world class establishments like these on the hopes he would return with some famous acquaintances.

"Open the bloody door, Malfoy!" Harry hollered, and Draco bit down on his lower lip to keep from laughing. "I know you're in there- you and that daft cow Chang- her mate Marietta told Landry and I managed to get it out of him!"

Draco turned to glare at Cho who pinked- but at least Cho hadn't told anyone who'd sell the story; that had happened enough to the both of them- being in a crowded place and someone overhearing their plans for the next day, and when they got to their destination the place was swarming with photographers.

Draco _alohamora_'d the door and stood to the side as Harry barged in. When he caught sight of Cho he lost a bit of his steam, but not all of it-he bypassed the sitting room and walked right past it into the bedroom.

"I'm off," Cho said, picking up her cloak and purse. "I never knew how to deal with him as a teenager and I certainly don't now." Draco handed her a twenty-galleon piece. "Thanks for coming by," he smiled. "I appreciate it."

"I don't do it for this," Cho said, although she pocketed the piece, which more than paid for dinner. "Mind he doesn't shout you into submission, Malfoy. And Floo me if you need anything."

"Will do," Draco said, bending to kiss her cheek.

As soon as the Floo fire consumed Cho, Draco turned to the bedroom area of the hotel suite. Harry was sitting on the bed, having crumpled the bed sheets. In his hands was a little bottle of Odgen's from the hotel's mini cooling cabinet. Draco crossed his arms- those little bottles were dear as fuck and Harry was deliberately baiting him by coming here and getting pissed instead of talking like a normal person. Instead of joining him on the bed, Draco _accio'd_ over his pack of fags and sat down on a chair.

"So this is where you've been," Harry said. "Real mature Malfoy- I was about to trace your wand's bloody signature!"

"Don't be stupid," Draco snorted, twirling his cigarette- if Harry had done that he'd get in trouble for using Ministry resources for his own personal affairs. "I was about to come home."

"Bollocks," Harry snorted. "You had Cho Chang doing your bidding and you were in Essex in the lap of sodding luxury while I was going out of my damned mind worrying about you! One of these days I'm not going to go looking for you, Malfoy!"

Draco felt a tendril of guilt trickling up his spine. He could have stayed and tried to explain everything to Harry- but Harry had been such a miserable, impossible git that it was pretty much impossible to talk to him, especially on the nights when he came from visiting the two other halves of the Golden Trio. Draco inhaled and exhaled a drag from his cigarette.

"Don't come looking then," Draco said tiredly. "I'm done fighting with you, Potter. It wears me out."

Harry looked a little dumbfounded. "What do you mean by that, Draco?" Harry eventually asked.

"Just what I said," Draco replied. "That I'm tired. If we can't talk without rowing then we shouldn't be talking, period. I'm tired of wasting money on hotels and inns because you've gone off to the Weasleys and come back in a strop."

"Me?" Harry snorted in disbelief, which Draco thought was rather hilarious. "You're the one who's been making plans behind my back and hasn't been telling me! What's that about Darby, Draco?"

Draco looked away. He had wanted to tell Harry this on his own time, but now his plans had been ruined and it was all because Harry was a noisy git and the Weasleys were always interfering.

"I got offered a job teaching pre-Arthimancy at a local school in Darby, Harry, and I went to see the school, so I signed a contract for a year. One of the conditions of the contract is that I have to live within the county borders. I wanted to ask you to move in with me and help me pick a house, but you _had_ to go looking through my things."

For a moment Harry wore a radiant expression- and then it shuttered in on itself. "I can't," Harry whispered dully. "All unmarried Aurors have to be on call during peak week hours due to the low amount of trainees."

"Oh," Draco said, moving in close to sit next to Harry. "I only wanted it to be a surprise, Harry- I thought you'd be happy moving in together-"

Harry nodded slowly. "I would have been. Can you get out of the contract?"

Draco shook his head. Even if he could have, he didn't want to- teaching in his chosen field was what he had wanted to do for ages, and he hadn't ever been given the chance. Plus, he'd be moving away from London- away from the press and the gossip and the Weasleys. He needed this.

"It's only a little over a half-hour on the Express on Platform 9 ¾." Draco said reassuringly. "You could stay over and make weekends of it. Or you could come right through the Floo and leave clothes at my flat."

"This is why you should discuss this with me beforehand," Harry said sharply. "I can't believe you're just moving away like this."

"I'm not _just moving away_," Draco retorted, frustrated. "I wanted you to come with me, and I do want you to be with me, Harry, but I want my career too. It's something that's not going to happen in London where everyone only sees me as Harry Potter's wicked partner or that poor Malfoy boy _let's send him our sons to be tutored for Hogwarts_. I need a real life, and I'm going to live it. I'm sorry you don't realize that."

Harry took Draco's hand. "I'm sorry," he said sadly. "It's just that I'm afraid I'm going to lose you. I love you so much and with all this change I'm so bloody terrified I'm going to lose you in the midst of everything. Don't you know I love you, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled unwillingly. "You should write speeches for the Minister, Potter," Draco said, cupping Harry's face. "I love you too- is that a scratch on your nose?"

Harry blushed. "Your bloody cat! Who did you think was feeding her this whole time, Draco you fucking shit! She jumped on me when I fell asleep on your couch- I swear to all the gods she hates me!"

Draco laughed and kissed Harry's nose. "Aww, there now, stop complaining," he cooed, as though Harry was baby Teddy. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Harry's green eyes glinted slyly and he laid back on the bed, reclining on the red pillows. "I have an ache down here," he motioned vaguely below his belt. "Will you kiss down there too, Healer Malfoy?"

Draco smirked, stretching out over Harry's body like a large exotic feline on a sexual prowl. "Perhaps," Draco said, his mouth leaning in for a kiss as he undid Harry's belt tantalizingly slowly. "If you're a very good boy, Harry Potter."

Harry made sure that he was.

* * *

Draco stretched out alongside Harry's sleeping form, which had been curled around his protectively, as though from an invisible foe. Draco smiled at the way the little cowlick in the front of Harry's forehead covered his famous scar. If only Harry could just be this Harry always, and not _Harry Potter, Savior and tabloid darling_. It would be so much easier for the both of them, really, but it wasn't real. Draco had wished it more times than he could count during the past three years, but it didn't make any difference.

Draco threw on his sweatpants and walked into the dining area. There on the table were yesterdays two newspapers with their lurid headlines. The _Daily Prophet _had an old picture of Theo Nott and his wife Ginny across from a picture of a constipated Harry that someone had taken at last year's Ministry Yule party. _Nott to Harry Potter: Stay Away from my Wife, Or Else!_ Draco snorted- the idea of stringy Theo Nott threatening anyone, including Harry, was absurdly funny.

_The News Of the Globe _was always the worst of the two rags- Daphne Greengrass, it's Editor-in-Chief had founded it with some wealthy Slytherins, and it ran on the dubious distinction of printing anything- that any decent paper wouldn't see fit to print, including scandals of the underage children of political figures. Draco hated opening that paper; inside was always bound to be something to make him look like a fool.

And there was.

_Party Boy Potter Enjoys Time with Mates While Malfoy is Treated for Illness_

_Harry Potter (pictured above with George Weasley) is all smiles whilst Draco Malfoy is nowhere to be seen. Are the rumors true then that Draco Malfoy has left to the Continent to recuperation from a stress-induced illness? Only time will tell . . ._

"Illness," Harry snorted, leaning his face on Draco's shoulder and nuzzling his hair. "I swear they get more and more creative with these every week."

"I was photographed out with you two months after Algernon died," Draco sighed, folding the paper in half. "No one likes a story like that. So someone has to stuffer for it- we take turns. One week it's you, one week it's me. Or rather, one week it's me who seduced you, and one week I was just a sweet schoolteacher in mourning."

Harry's eyes grew hard at that. Draco hated that paranoid jealousy Harry still had towards Algernon- it had been _years_ ago, and Al had been very good to him, why shouldn't Draco mention it? Harry and Draco had been the ones to hurt Algernon in the end, not the other way around, and even then sometime they would have had to have gotten over it, one way or the other. Draco thought that Harry was rather petty.

"Do you blame me?" Harry said, and Draco looked up quickly, knocking his head against Harry's. "For what happened with you and Bones?"

"_What_?" Draco scoffed. "Don't be stupid- I don't blame people for the choices I've made anymore, I'm in my twenties, not seventeen. I'm also not deluded, I knew what was happening when I slept with you. I just didn't want to hurt him."

"Do you still think about him?" Harry asked sulkily, and despite himself Draco smiled a little. There was something so utterly charming in dating a Gryffindor- someone so generally free of guile was unbelievably attractive.

Draco stood up and took Harry's hand. "I do think about him, you monster- but I think about him about once for about the thousand times I think about you, Potter. You know I'm in love with you, you needy, desperate sod."

"I love how you have to follow a compliment with an insult," Harry beamed, although he pushed Draco up against the wall and pressed his open mouth against Draco's neck. Draco tried not to react, though like every time he was this close to Harry the air felt heady and thick. "I love you too, Malfoy you egotistical bastard- now can I shag you again, please?"

"Since you said please," Draco smirked, sauntering towards the crumpled white linen of the giant bed. He could feel Harry's eyes on his arse despite the fact he was wearing a baggy pair of sweats - sometimes it really frustrated him that they went from quarrelling to shagging on a cyclical basis nearly every week, but it was nice to be admired years into a relationship.

Harry threw off his shirt and half-buttoned up jeans with a gaudy flourish that made Draco laugh and then saw to Draco's pants.

"So pretty," Harry muttered into his hair, and Draco rolled his eyes nearly to the ceiling with a shaky sort of humor. Did Potter _honestly_ think that Draco couldn't hear him just because he was swept away in one of his intense mental conversations? Harry pulled away from his neck and pulled his hands away from his jean's pocket- they were slick with lubricant.

Draco threw his head back and arched up even before Harry touched him- it was amazing how instinctual this had all become, just having Harry around him was enough sometimes to send him into an overdrive of feelings- lust, need, want, envy, jealousy, love- if there was something basic and elemental that human beings were supposed to feel for each other, Draco felt it for Harry.

A slick hand slid down his spine and groped him roughly. Draco felt like a bit of fruit at a stand and some distant part of him felt ashamed that he _liked_ it.

"_Merlin,_" Harry laughed, a trifle desperately. "You're so bloody hot- so hot, I can't take it anymore-"

It was dark and fierce and safe here. Safe because these sheets weren't his own bed sheets, and safe because this desperate little growl in his throat wasn't his own voice crying out for more. Draco's whole body felt primed on the edge- everything was too much, not _enough- _Harry's face was right near his collarbone and Draco was going to arch up and if Harry bit him just _once_ he'd-

Harry _did_-

Draco cried out.

* * *

"Harry," Draco said, exhaling cigarette smoke. "We should probably get back."

"Don't want to," Harry said from the bathroom. "I want to be alone with you. Forever."

Draco beamed at the sweetness of the statement-which oddly enough reflected his own feelings. Harry came out of the bathroom and frowned at Draco smoking.

"_Gods_ Draco do you have to smoke those bloody fags?" Harry said irritably. "Your lungs are going to go black."

Draco sighed and lit another cigarette with his wand. So much for a break from the madness.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hi guys- I just want to say a very big thank you to all my reviewers for making the uploading bit fun somehow- especially Sharon T and satin-skies, who lives in my head bc you guessed a plot point, lol. I hope everyone else is enjoying the story so far and let me know what you think of this chapter!_

* * *

Chapter 3:

Harry trudged through the snow around Hogsmeade. It had been years since he had been to the village. Probably since Ron and Hermione had been in school, and even then Harry hadn't visited too much- the wounds of the war had been fresh, and back then Harry had wanted to pretend that he was well, well enough not to need to go back to school with his mates, like his best friends had done.

Harry sometimes regretted that decision. Nearly eight years ago going back to Hogwarts made him feel like a child when all he wanted to do was move on, but all Harry could see know was the way things might have been. Harry could have spoken up at Draco's trial, and they could have met up earlier, when Draco moved into Andromeda's cottage. They could have gone to Hogwarts together and spend cozy winter months trudging through the snow, or silly afternoons playing pick-up Quidditch with other 'eighth' years. But they hadn't.

Sometimes Harry felt they had started too late. That was their problem, always meeting in the wrong way, or at the wrong time- in a bathroom, in a dressing room, in a robe shop, insulting each other's friends; while one of them was still in a relationship. Harry felt like they were always playing catch-up with fate. One day they were just going to give up on each other and he was terrified of that day coming. He loved Draco and he _knew_ that they were meant to be together.

Harry just didn't know if his world made sense without Draco in it.

Harry pushed his way into the pub and sighed as nearly all the patrons put down their tankards of ale and looked up. That was the worst thing about being Harry Potter- the bloody notoriety. Harry knew that Draco hated it too, hated it more than Harry hated it- grown up Draco was nothing like the child that had sold stories to Rita Skeeter, instead he had almost allergy to the press. Harry sighed and pressed his bangs to his forehead, not that it made any difference. Everyone read about his and Draco's last made-up saga with their morning cuppa.

Hannah Boot smiled at Harry from behind the bar- when Neville had gone off to the Nurseries and not to Hogwarts, she and Terry Boot and become close and brought the pub together. Harry thought they were a sweet couple.

"Hey, Madam Hannah," Harry said, just to make Hannah blush, "How have you been then?"

"Been alright," Hannah blushed. "Taking care of these louts isn't as hard as you think. Neville's in the corner booth, why don't I bring you a nice hot toddy and you go through ahead?"

"You're a treasure," Harry smiled, his hands were frozen through- Draco _had_ told him to take his good flying gloves with the heating charms woven in, but Harry hadn't bothered to look.

"Go on," Hannah beamed, pleased.

Neville was seated in the corner of the booth with his traveling cloak still on to keep warm, a pile of scrolls that had come from students on his desk around him to grade. Just over a year ago Neville had left his job as manager of the nurseries to become Herbology professor at Hogwarts- a post that everyone though suited him much more indeed. Harry thought so too, Neville had always seemed more at home in Professor Spout's class than in the loud Gryffindor dorms- a thing that made it easier for everyone to take the piss out of him. Harry wished he had understood then what he knew now- that Neville had been more grown up than the lot of them.

"Harry," Neville beamed, just as one of Hannah's barmaid plonked down his toddy. "How have you been?"

"Good," Harry said, and it was true- work had been quiet lately, and Draco and Teddy had been well, so he had no complaints. "How's Hogwarts?"

"Busy, as usual," Neville gestured to the scrolls. "Minerva wants exams out before Yule to frighten the poor buggers. Children never get a break. How are Teddy and Malfoy doing?"

"Teddy's well," Harry paused to take a sip of his drink. "And Draco's himself- he's been offered a position in Darby- teaching pre-Arthimancy at the state school up there, or around here rather."

Neville raised an eyebrow without much expression. That was why, out of his closest friends, Harry had chosen to tell Neville first. Ron would only fuss about it and ask why a million times, not in a cruel way, but only because he couldn't imagine Draco doing anything but standing beside Harry as he had all those weeks in hospital. And then there was Hermione. Well, Hermione would think the worst of Draco, unfortunately. Harry disliked that, but it was true, and he was tired of rowing with her about it.

"Oh," Neville finally said neutrally. "What will he do?"

"He's keen on taking it," Harry admitted, wishing that the drink was stronger. Harry wished that he had a physical way of tethering Draco to him- palm to palm, with some sort of permanent sticking charm so they could never let go. He couldn't bear the thought of being without Draco. Harry _hated_ the idea. But Draco was an adult, and he couldn't stop him- that was the surest way to lose him.

Neville nodded deeply, as though he could sense Harry's internal struggle and was deciding what to make of it. "Why don't you move to Darby with him, Harry and then you can just Floo to the atrium of the Ministry for work everyday? Then the both of you will be living together and you'd be getting some peace of mind from the press."

"I can't," Harry admitted, motioning the barmaid over for a top-up. "There was a low admittance rate to the Aurors this year and a lot of the men retired last year, so there's practically no one on the force until this year's trainees get pushed through. Robards made it mandated that all men who aren't married and don't have children must be _on call_ during the week. There's no way I can be on call from Darby, even if I Floo- something could go wrong."

Neville bit his lip. Then he smiled. "You could marry Malfoy."

"I wish that was an option," Harry frowned.

It was an option. Legally, anyway. Harry wanted that, he thought about it all the time. Asking Draco to marry him. But frankly he wasn't confident that Draco would say yes. Sometimes at night he would stay up and watch Draco sleeping, his blond hair with it's dark streaks on the pillow and his chest would _hurt _so badly Harry would actually put his hand to feel around his sternum, as though it were a physical pain. Harry had never known love, and he didn't know it was possible to love someone like that- deeply, obsessively, completely. He couldn't live without Draco.

But they rowed about _everything. _Harry didn't know if it was because they were two strong personalities or what, but if they were in the same house for more than two days there was bound to be an argument of some kind, followed by the best sex of his life, followed by another wind up. It was the story of Harry's life and it was draining.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Neville said optimistically, draining the last bit of ale from his tankard.

"Right," Harry muttered, sipping his drink. Draco would still leave after the New Year and Harry still would have to grin and bear it like a daft sod. Lucky him.

* * *

As soon as Harry got through the door of Grimmauld Place he could tell that Draco was in a right mood. It wasn't even that Draco had said anything- he hadn't- it was a sixth sense for these sort of things by now. If Draco was in a good mood he would come downstairs and greet Harry with a hug and a kiss and ask him how he was, and what he was doing, and where he had gone. If Draco was in a fair mood he would have been at the sofa, smoking like a chimney, reading the papers or listening to the wireless, ignoring Harry generally; but present.

The fact that he was here, but he wasn't _here_ spelt disaster for Harry's evening.

Harry made his way upstairs to his room. Draco was seated at the windowsill, his back stiff as a board, even though he was pretending to read one of those expensive scholastic journals that Harry could only understand one word in ten in-with names like _Progressive Advancements in Arithmatic Theory._ Harry hated them, it just highlighted the huge gap in intellectual understanding between Harry and Draco- sometimes he wondered how Hermione and Ron dealt with those things, but Ron, for all his quick temper was much more laid back than Harry; who could be jealous of a hat in the right mood if Draco showed it attention.

"I don't know why I come here," Draco finally snapped out, closing the book with a flourish and glaring at Harry. "If you're never in your own bloody house."

Harry thought that was rich since he and Draco had spent the day yesterday here, flying, in the back garden, but he wasn't even going to mention that. Draco would only find some hole in that argument.

"I went out to see my friends," Harry said, struggling, but not managing to keep out the sigh in his voice. "All we ended up talking about was _you_ anyway!"

Harry winced internally. Somehow he had made an innocent conversation sound like he had spent hours winging about his partner. _Gods. _

"I'm _so_ happy I'm a popular topic once again with the Winners of the War set," Draco sneered and Harry wished that he could bite his tongue clear off- once again he had put both feet in it. "I'm so sick of you and your bloody _mates_ going round talking about me wherever you want so that the papers can write up nonsense about me, Potter!"

"What!" Harry shouted, dumbfounded- did Draco _really_ think that his friends would sell stories or leak information to the press? "My friends are good bloody people, Malfoy! Unlike that blonde slag Bones, and that hanger on Cho Chang- she's the one who wants in the papers!"

"Ha!" Draco clutched his stomach as though Harry had told the world's funniest joke, although his eyes were hard with ill humor. "Funny you should talk trash about Cho when you _dated_ her before she and I were even friends."

"For about _five minutes,_" Harry shouted, remembering that wet snog- he crunched up his face, imagining Cho and Draco laughing about his first kiss after one of his and Draco's blazing rows. Would Cho sink to that level? Probably, to impress Draco, she always had been a bit of a dizzy bint.

"I don't care," Draco said, his face deadly calm with anger. "Everyone knows that you want to be with a woman again, and this is some little fling for you- it's why you won't move with me to Darby. You've only ever slept with girls like Ginny Weasley and that one with the big tits in America! Don't even lie, they've just printed her photograph in the papers. This is a joke to you and I'm so _tired _of being made of fool of by Harry _sodding _Potter! I can't wait to leave London to be rid of you, you vicious, scheming, _shit_!"

"You _arse!_" Harry cried, following Draco around the room as he packed up his things yet _again. _"Don't you know that half the shit in the papers isn't even true- Draco Malfoy, you git! Sit down and talk to me!"

Draco paused in waving his wand over his clothes, which were folding themselves into neat square shapes. "Right, so you didn't sleep with that cow Laura Shelley who sold her story?"

Harry bit his lip.

Draco laughed bitterly. "So you're going to say you went from a slag with ones out to here-" Draco gestured obscenely far out in front of himself. "To me. You really are a _mistake, _Potter! A bloody mistake!"

Harry wanted to cry. He wanted to explain to Draco that he'd slept with Laura because she'd been easy and uncomplicated and available, and because he'd been confused about his sexuality. Harry wanted to explain that even while he was seeing Laura he was beginning to have the tendrils of attraction towards Draco- like the dancer in the gay nightclub who had looked like him, but he couldn't form the words. Instead he said-

"You knew I shagged a girl when I was in New York," Harry said stupidly. "We weren't even together then."

Draco disapparated.

* * *

Harry fire-called Draco's flat in Camden at least fifteen times. Harry _hated_ when Draco did this, but this time he understood why- that bitch Laura had sold _intimate details_ as they called it, of her time with the Man-Who-Lived. After the first paragraph, which described innocent an Laura being seduced by an obscenely lustful Harry, Harry threw the paper into the fire. It was all nonsense- a thread of truth woven into a mass of lies to sell papers. But Draco hadn't been around at that time, and their relationship was in a horrible state, so he would read those sorts of things and believe them. Harry would believe them, too, if he didn't know himself- it was why he had such lowered popularity with the public. But this sort of rot sold, and there wasn't much anyone could do about it.

Harry finally apparated to Draco's flat. The lights were all off and the wireless was on the top of the pops station- which meant Draco was here, thankfully.

Harry made his way to Draco's bedroom. The main candelabra was out- Draco couldn't stand chandeliers and never used them because of what he had seen of their use during the war. On the nightstand, a few tea lights were floating in a lonely blue bowl of water. Beside them was a bottle, Harry picked it up and spun it in his hand to read the label.

It was _Dreamless Sleep,_ Healer's strength_._ A strong feeling of guilt washed over Harry. Draco loathed Dreamless Sleep; he hated any unnatural sleep and any loss of control over his body because he had had his memories forcibly removed while under _stasis_ by the Aurors at St. Mungo's. If Draco had willingly taken Dreamless Sleep it meant he had been horribly upset.

Draco was asleep in the middle of the bed, curled up in a ball, as though trying to protect himself from attack even during his slumber. Harry's whole body ached to see something like that. Draco shouldn't have to be stressed in that way- not because of Harry, Harry was supposed to protect him.

Harry pulled off his shoes and clothes and climbed into the bed beside Draco, spooning his warm, lax body. After a moment, Draco turned around and turned to face Harry. His grey eyes were hazy and unfocused because of the sleeping potion and it made Harry feel weak and vulnerable to see it. Harry gently brushed back the hair from Draco's face and toyed with it between his fingers, letting the soft strands slip and slide in and out of his hands.

"Harry," Draco slurred dropping his head heavily onto Harry's firm chest. "Harry, do you love me at _all_?"

"Oh Draco," Harry nearly cried. "I love you more than anything in the world, my darling."

"Please don't ever leave me," Draco sighed thickly, pressing a half-focused kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Harry's heart. "I don't know what I'd do if you'd ever left me."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey everyone- I guess I have to invest in tissues, haha. The end of the last chapter was very emotional, I know. I think that Draco was very damaged by what happened to Bones, to his father, and by what his mother did. It's not an excuse though, which brings me to SkylerKnight's comment. You made me lol and it's so true._

_Review and tell me what you think.  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

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Chapter 4:

Draco looked around his emptied Camden flat with a sigh. Over the last three weeks after Yule, Harry, his Aunt, and Cho had helped him, alongside his Estate Agency and a team of professional movers, to pack up everything but the most non-essential items. It was hard to let go of the loft- for Draco it had been the first home that was truly his. Aunt Andromeda's cottage had been infused with memories of his cousin and her father, and Malfoy Manor had been more a mausoleum to family tradition and then after that it had become a literal mausoleum.

Draco sat down on one of the chairs and lit a fag. He didn't want to leave. He knew he didn't want to leave London, and he had known it for a week, but he was too stubborn and too contrary to admit defeat, especially to Harry. Draco hung his head as he exhaled- they were _years_ out of school and yet the both of them were still making everything into a bleeding competition- it was like when he and Pansy used to play staring contests in his room when he was a child, each waiting for the other to blink to crow and mock.

It was exhausting. What Draco wanted to do was run to the Ministry, fling himself to Harry's arms and beg Harry to bond with him. To keep Harry always- to save him from himself and these madcap schemes that seemed to be the downfall of every Black that had come before him, and surely would come after him. Draco chuckled to himself- someone would have to mind Teddy- Aunt Andromeda had had Ted Tonks and Mother hadn't really anyone, which explained her bouts of occasional good sense and then collapses back into lunacy.

But it was too much to ask of Harry - Harry had saved the world once, and he couldn't be the savior of Draco's world. Honestly, Draco didn't really want him to. He was conflicted- Draco wanted Harry, and he wanted his freedom, he wanted his freedom and he wanted to be cosseted. It was a cycle he couldn't escape from- if Harry wasn't famous, if Harry wasn't so stubborn, if-if-if-

Draco lit another fag. Right now he needed space- not an end, because he'd rather cut off his wand hand than be without Harry, but space to grow his career and know his own mind, and know what he was doing and feeling and _being._ Everywhere in London there was Chinese whispers; rumors that Harry wanted a family, that Harry wanted to settle down, that Draco was holding him back. Draco needed air.

Maybe Darby would be the making of their relationship.

Or maybe it would ruin it.

Draco lit another cigarette. Harry would be surrounded by beautiful women and attractive men, and with Draco away they'd be flinging themselves at him every night- hoping to get a piece of the Potter Puzzle and a story to sell the next day to a rag like _The News of the Globe._ Draco blew his smoke idly- Harry was honorable, he knew that- but their relationship started from an affair. Who knew?

But Draco _had_ to live his life, and if he waited for the day Harry proposed to him or for he himself to get up the nerve (which would never happen, truthfully) he would run out of time; his career would pass him by and all people would ever see him as would be the blond piece Harry Potter shagged on the weekends.

The wards warped in the bare Camden flat and Teddy came running in, his nose the steady upturned Black pert appendage- about a year ago Teddy had learned to control the shape of his nose unless he smelled something particularly foul; in which case it would form all sorts of shapes. That would start Aunt Andromeda up on _your mother would have never done that Ted Remus!_ which neither Draco nor Teddy thought was particularly convincing, anyway.

"Draco," Teddy beamed, flinging himself into Draco's arms- at nearly nine Teddy was nearly outgrowing cuddles, but not quite- Draco supposed it was because Draco had changed Teddy's nappies and taught him to read-that would bond any child to an adult.

"Draco, where's Allison? Draco, do you have any berry crumble in your cooling cabinet? Draco, will Harry be coming over today? Draco, can I go out on the roof garden with Allison and her string?"

Draco winced- Teddy never thought it prudent to ask one question when he could ask fifteen- and he _had_ been such a sweet baby.

"You can go out on the roof garden," Draco said, "And you can take your berry crumble out there as well- but _not_ with Allison; the wards are down because the movers were taking down some of the lawn chairs I had up there, and I don't want the cat chasing the string right over the edge."

Teddy's hair turned black with horror, but a moment later it was back to a merry and festive green. "Berry crumble," Teddy sang as he walked towards the kitchen. "It's _berry_ goood."

Aunt Andromeda came up the rear and took the seat that was empty beside Draco. It wasn't the rocker that she used to knit in, and watch over Draco in like a concerned mother hen- that had already been moved to his new home. Instead, Aunt Andromeda sat primly down in the hard back chair and sniffed at Draco's smoking.

"Will Harry be coming along to see you move in?" Aunt Andromeda asked.

"No," Draco said, throwing ashes onto the floor without concern- in a few weeks this wouldn't even be his flat anymore; he had already had three firm offers and they were going through a bidding war. "Harry's got work, and I didn't ask him to take off. He's annoyed enough with me leaving, so it's probably for the best."

"Hmm," Aunt Andromeda said, and that was enough. Draco had the feeling that Aunt Andromeda liked Harry, but didn't quite like him for her nephew, a push and pull that left her confused and annoyed with Harry, and left Draco a bit amused with her. Draco would say that Aunt Andromeda didn't find anyone good enough for him, but that was a lie- she had loved Algernon because he had been so steady and sure footed.

"He does care about me," Draco said, although he had no idea why. Perhaps it was to reassure Aunt Andromeda as much as himself.

"If he cared as much as he was supposed to," Aunt Andromeda said primly, snatching the cigarette out of Draco's mouth and _banishing_ it with a flick of her wand. "He would have made his intentions known to you by now."

Draco bit his lip and wished he had that fag back.

* * *

Draco was happy to be in his new home- a semi-detached house he had gotten for less than half of what his Camden flat had cost him, on a quiet suburban wizarding roundabout in Darby. His new school was in the city proper, which Draco hadn't visited yet. When he had come before he had visited Leopold, the school's headmaster, at his home nearby here; and they had had tea and scones and discussed the challenges of teaching in the metropolis. It was such a relief to have a normal conversation in which Harry hadn't come up every five minutes as an extension of his own name that Draco had signed the contract with a flourish, happy to escape the madness of being one-half of England's most watched couple.

Allison had come out from under the new, smaller bed that Draco had brought- although the split level home was technically larger, the three bedrooms were all smaller and it had taken all day of dragging his wand around wearily for to figure out where he wanted this vase or that chair. It was good to be tired though- just when he had arrived, Harry had fire-called and they had had one of their usual rows. This time Harry had been annoyed that Draco hadn't asked him to come over and help with the unpacking. Draco thought that was rather rich- Harry was old enough that if he had wanted to he could have come through the Floo and helped Draco right after work, or even taken the day off.

Harry had ended up saying something snide as usual and in the end Draco had put the screen over his face and walked into the other room. He knew it was petty, and now he rather regretted it, but that's how it always was with their rows- Harry couldn't just come over, and Draco couldn't ask him what happened at work today to make him be in such a foul mood. Instead they always seemed to be pecking at each other, and Draco worried that soon there wouldn't be anything left.

Draco didn't know- he wished Harry had come with him to live in Darby, but at the same time they fought so badly that nothing was going to be solved until something happened- like two trains on a collision course in a bad wireless melodrama. It _would_ be lonely here as well, but at least he had his cat.

Draco pet behind her ears and the beast curved her head into his hand for more affection. If only Harry was so easy to read.

If only Draco hadn't let Teddy name his cat _Allison._

* * *

The morning of Draco's first day of school Harry fire-called him to wish him luck. They had patched it up the day before, like usual Harry had caved first and Floo'ed Draco twice that night to say _I love you, Malfoy _and _goodnight, darling_- for all his bluster and big-mouth Harry never could hold a grudge half as long as Draco could. Draco sort of hated that about himself- that he could be so petty whilst the next day after the fight Harry was always sunshine and roses and optimism. But that was probably why Draco was a Slytherin, and Harry was a Gryffindor, and the Earth was round, and all that rot.

If Draco was braver there was a lot he'd do- but he wasn't built to be fearless, and perhaps Harry had his limitations, too, or they'd have been better off by now.

Leopold Pennyworth, the Headmaster of the Darby Wizarding State School, met Draco at his roundabout early that morning. Since Draco was new to the area he had offered to show him around Dismal Alley, the little High Street that made up Darby's internal wizarding district. Pennyworth was a stout man with a handlebar mustache who favored wearing trousers that were a bit too tight in the waist that made him look a bit like an overstuffed link sausage.

"Are you ready for your first day, Draco?" Pennyworth said informally and rather forcefully. _Out of the cradle and ready to face the hexing squad_, Draco thought with a twist of his stomach.

"Hopefully," Draco forced out a smile.

"Ah," Pennyworth grinned. "You'll be fine, lad- if you can survive a war, you can survive my school."

Draco didn't think that that was exactly a sterling impression of the state of the educational system up here, but he was willing to push forward. He nodded to Pennyworth once and with a clap again on his shoulder they Slid-Along to Dismal Alley.

It got it's name for a reason. Draco had never seen such a place before. Even Knockturn looked cheerful compared to this dank, dark place- the street was low and hidden- close to the ground and dug inward like a magical trench so that Muggles could not see it's existence. The Alley was thick with the coating of muck and slime- the air was heavy with the odor of ammonia. Draco took in a long breath against the festering stench of urine that had built up and had caked itself along the cobblestones that were filthy with the excrement of horses, and animals, and possibly even humans. The shops here all had wards- Draco could feel the magic against his body, repelling him unless he got close enough to the doors to enter.

This was a place of poverty, of loss and of misery. Draco wanted to flee- and yet he was horrified- how could a place like this exist and people not know, not care? "What are those?" Draco asked Pennyworth, who was holding a scented handkerchief to his face.

Pennyworth gestured to the shantytown; it was a row of houses that seemed to be built of nothing more than a few sticks and several sticking charms. Some had tin roofs with bits that seemed to have come from old railway cars or parts of old carriages and Muggle cars. Doors had been fashioned from old robes and cloaks that blew in the fetid air, revealing a filthy woman breast feeding her thin child, her hands and feet so dirty they were nearly black. Draco wanted to look away, but he couldn't- her face was young, but she looked as though she could be anywhere from eighteen to ninety; her eyes were that aged.

Draco was horrified.

"They're magical estates," Pennyworth snorted. "Or at least what the government thinks are _estates_. They took people out of their huts and cottages out of the war because they decided that there was an issue of overcrowding and gave them government housing. That's the housing, my lad."

Draco winced. This had to be some sort elaborate wind-up. Harry had nearly died for _this_? The Order, the Weasleys, Sirius Black and his brother; his mother, his cousin, Teddy's father- they were all supposed to be right. They were all supposed to be _right_, and Draco was meant to be wrong.

"I can't believe it," Draco said, staring at a small child who was dressed in a toga that looked to be made out of a greyed tablecloth. She couldn't have been more than five- Draco had taught five year olds- he remembered Teddy at five, curious and rebellious on the latest broom, flying across the back garden. He had taught five year olds.

"Well," Pennyworth said simply. "Sadly, this is what the world's come to."

It was reality. Draco had _no_ idea what he had come into when he had signed his contract. His classroom was sty- there was gum and the remnants of Weasley products stuck to the ceiling, though he had no idea how children who couldn't yet use wands had managed that. The desks had all been overturned and stuck to the floor and it had taken him an hour to unstick them and stand them upright. His new students definitely had a Weasley-like sense of humor, and were trying to vex him. Draco didn't care- he had seen how these children lived and he was going to educate them and send them out into the world and make them a force to be reckoned with, whether they liked it or not.

When the children came in, Draco was shocked- only nine of them for a rather large village- all clean and defiant looking, with a ragged, hungry sort of look about themselves that made them seem like eager wolves before fresh meat.

"Do you shag Harry Potter?" One boy with ginger hair and an impudent look asked before Draco could even open his book and Draco mentally winced- apparently even up here, half illiterate children could look at tabloids and put two and two together.

That sent off a firestorm.

"Do you have pots and pots of gold?" A girl with plaits and good, second-hand robes asked.

"Do you have your own butler like on the wireless?" Another boy asked eagerly.

"Are you going to marry Harry Potter?" Another boy asked.

Draco wished _he_ knew the answer to that last one, actually. This was going to kill him. Finally he sent off a spell that his father had taught him- it sent up bright, loud sparks throughout the room. Father had been particularly fond of spells like these, in fact whenever Draco wouldn't pay attention in his genealogy lessons, he used to scald his hands a bit and then heal them- Father said it taught him strength of character. Draco thought it only taught him that the enemy resided at home.

All the children leapt back from their desks a little and looked at him a little more admiringly. Perhaps all their other teachers had treated them with kid gloves because of their poverty, but Draco wouldn't- in fact he _couldn't_. He would treat them fairly, and decently, and they would learn. That was what he was here for.

"You can't do that!" The mouthy red-headed boy shouted and Draco sighed internally. Gingers had been destroying his life since the blood feud with the Weasleys.

"Shut it," the girl with the plaits hissed. "This is Harry Potter's wizard- not some idiot you can push around, Bailey."

"You're right in thinking you can't push me around," Draco said evenly. "And I don't think I can push you around, either. We are going to have to respect each other. And that means respecting my privacy- and my business with Harry Potter. If you want to know about it, I'll set you down a little challenge."

"A challenge?" the girl with the plaits asked eagerly.

"Yes," Draco smiled. "If you can all get O's on your first exam I'll let you ask me one question about my personal life. As a class. It's a one time deal, so don't bother wasting it. If you can't be bothered, then don't make rude comments and ruin the chances for the other students in the class who study and try to do well."

"I can't manage it," one of the boys in the back groused. "I can barely do my sums, sir."

Draco flinched. The children had to be nine years old or even ten- nearly ready for Hogwarts and they couldn't add? Something was not _right_ here- they should have been educated in the basics ages ago- in nursery school. But then again they lived in such poverty, and such neglect. Something rose up in Draco as he looked across the classroom of sad, lean faces, defiant and waiting to be mocked for their ignorance- he was _angry. _

And hurt.

"We've got a whole year together," Draco smiled softly. " We'll manage- soon you'll be teaching me."

The children seemed to relax a bit with that-he was going to spend as much time as he needed helping them. And then he was going to find out what had gone wrong in the world to make something like this seem alright.

When Draco got home his mind was still on the children- he had spent an extra two hours with the ones who weren't needed at home, teaching them simple sums, simple fractions; numerology to the most advanced among them. The children had massive gaps in their education; some could read but only barely, using their fingers to follow along sentences like six year olds, their eyes tracking along and their mouths silently forming the words. Others read brilliantly as they worked in shops after school to make money for their families, but had trouble with things like multiplying and dividing numbers as they hardly spent enough time at home to study.

Draco had no idea what to do- he hadn't expected to face such a challenge when he came to Darby, but it was clear to him now that the educational system was faulty- there were children in shops that he saw that never went to school, there were children working as young as nine. People lived in poor housing and they barely made a living wage. It was horrifying- Draco was a Slytherin and of course by nature self-interested but there came a time by which everyone was alarmed by society. And now he was worried.

The Floo hissed and Draco turned toward it- it was Harry. Draco sighed and walked toward it, sitting down on the cushion he had gotten in Egypt with Aunt Andromeda at a bazaar.

"Hey," Harry said, beaming. "How was your first day at school?"

"Good," Draco said, inventing things as he went along- how do you say that you were having a moral and social crisis about the world you were living in? It sounded so bloody trite, and so damned philosophical. Draco didn't think that Harry would understand; he'd have to be here, to _see_, and Harry wasn't here, he was off being an Auror and Draco was having a crisis of conscience in Darby.

Harry nodded. "You look tired. Where the kids good to you?"

"A little rough at first," Draco said simply. "But then we got on well. I'm really quite tired though, Harry. Do you mind if I just go to bed?"

"Alright," Harry said, and even through the flickering flames Draco could see that Harry was disappointed. "I love you, darling." "I love you too, Potter," Draco said tiredly. "Goodnight."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks again to everyone who reviewed._

* * *

Chapter 5:

Harry stretched out behind his desk. Harry and Ron were on duty tonight along with Landry since Sampson was out with an ear infection that kept flaring up so he had gone to see a Healer. Nothing was really going on dispatch had had only two calls that night- one from a witch who had polyjuiced herself into a man as a prank and couldn't get into her wards, and another from a man who had fire-called because he had heard burglars around his home, but it had ended up being stray vampires, who were registered with the Ministry and had apologized for the intrusion.

"What are you doing for Monroe Day, Harry?" Ron asked, referring to the wizarding holiday marking some important Ministry official's birth. Most people in the Ministry got a three day vacation from work, as it was only a minor holiday, but a little hol was better than nothing at all. Harry really did need it right now as well- he and Draco rarely saw each other right now as it was and Draco was working so hard trying to be the best teacher he could that Harry often times found himself becoming the slightest bit jealous of the dedication Draco put into his career.

"I might ask Draco to go with me to Marbella," Harry mused, thinking of the vacation they had taken there years earlier as an escape from the press. Harry so wanted that fire back between them- he knew he'd do anything, _anything_ for Draco, but with them so far apart during the week, and only having weekends, it was as though they only communicated through chimneys now.

"Cor," Ron whistled. "I don't think I can top that. I was just going to ask Hermione round to Bath for the weekend. You're starting to make me look bad, Potter."

"You make yourself look bad," Harry teased. Whinging Weasley, you are."

But Harry did need this trip- he was beginning to miss their fights, which was saying something. There were no rows now, no conversation, no nothing. It was as though Darby had swallowed Draco up whole and Harry was only left with bits and pieces and his own memories. Harry didn't even know _why_ Draco was so obsessed with the place. In fact, Harry wished every bloody day that he hadn't just asked Draco to marry him so that they could be living together. Now he felt shut out from his life for good, and he was becoming paranoid, daft and afraid- without Draco he was lost, and now he had half of himself fading away, as though a strange spell had been cast over his lover.

After work Harry went home to Grimmauld Place and changed into a pair of his good Muggle jeans and a tight black t-shirt- he wanted to impress Draco, which was silly, since they had been together years now. But perhaps it was all the house; Harry felt alone at Grimmauld now, as alone as he had felt just after the war, before he had gone to New York. Grimmauld had always been too large for one person, and while it had been ideal for the Noble Black Family and the Headquarters, for just one Harry Potter, lonely old rotter, it was like placing a drop of water into a swimming pool- it just felt massive.

Harry went over to the Floo in the living room with it's neat rug that Hermione had picked out and called out the name of the semi-detached house that Draco had brought. It took a moment but Draco came to the fire, his face bright and cheerful and he was dressed in a thick nubby sweater that Harry had given him for Yule- which cheered Harry a little.

"Hello," Draco smiled, bending his legs in front of the fire as though he was readying himself for a long chat. "You look nice. You didn't have work today then?"

Harry winced. Draco had already forgotten his work schedule and it had only been a month and a bit that they had been apart. How long before he would forget Harry entirely and move on to someone else?

"Yes I did," Harry grumbled. "Did you forget already? I always take third shift, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes got hard at that. "So sorry Savior," he scowled through the flames. "Perhaps one of your many fans can memorize your schedule for you. I heard that you went out to dinner and you were signing autographs just like a stage star- very nice."

Harry _had_ signed a bloody autograph for a woman. Ron and Hermione had tried to warn him off doing it- they had told him that if he did it, it would make the morning papers and that it would look bad, but Harry hadn't known what to do. The woman had been bloody persistent, and Harry _had_ drunk more firewhiskey than he should have, making it feel like signing a napkin for a middle-aged cow with tight robes on as just harmless act and an absolutely hilarious one. In the morning light he had known that Draco was going to see the picture and think the worst of him- Harry thought the worst of himself too, sometimes.

"It didn't mean anything," Harry said, and then with the miraculous ability he had for sticking his foot in it he added- "You know I wouldn't leave you for a fat slag, Draco, be reasonable."

That, once again, got him Draco's screen in his face.

* * *

It had taken two days of groveling but Draco had agreed to come to Marbella with him again. Harry constantly felt as though he was apologizing for something- Draco was never wrong, it was always Harry who did it. Harry did feel that it was true that he managed to be rather daft and blunt sometimes, but Draco was stubborn and vicious and he always held a grudge and never forgave. One day Harry was not going to apologize first, he knew it- he could feel it in his bones- there was only so much he could take of the quarreling and the rows between them and always having to be the one to suck it up and make amends. But it wasn't going to happen today, not yet. He was still so deeply fascinated by Draco that if Draco told him to stick his wand up his arse Harry would say how high.

Harry was a damned fool.

Marbella was still as beautiful as always. Places like this, set on the turqouise sea, never seem to change, the water clear and mesmerizing in the sunlight, glittering like crystal fairies waiting to take flight as soon as someone looked away. There were beautiful palm trees all along the wizarding mile and the wealthy and famous mingled freely- Quidditich stars and investment bankers, old money and stage actors, even musicians all seemed to be in town renting the beautiful sand and tan-orange villas that sat perched into the mountain range, each seeming to try and outdo each other in terms of their size and grandeur and amenities.

Harry and Draco's villa was not the largest, instead it was the most secluded for privacy reasons. Harry didn't think they needed ten bedrooms and four swimming pools for two people, especially when two of the pools would have probably had access to the paparazzi; who were swarming the area like gnats. Instead, they rented a beautiful and discreet mansion with five rooms and a Quidditch pitch and a single pool which Harry knew would appeal to Draco, who rather liked swimming, and Harry who rather liked his lean, beautiful body popping in and out of the water with ease.

As soon as they arrived, though, Harry realized that he and Draco had different ideas of what a holiday was.

Draco laid down on a lawn chair with a book, on his back, his pert bottom in the air. Harry fidgeted, fighting the urge to throw Draco to the floor and shag him. He looked bloody _incredible_ in his bathing suit- like it was cut to fit his body- tight but not too tight, the black color only highlighting his lovely pale skin. Harry wanted him so bloody badly right now.

"Draco," Harry said, forcing an even note into his voice. "Do you need a top up on your sun repelling potion?"

"No," Draco said, turning a page and not bothering to look at Harry. "Not for a while."

Harry humphed. They were supposed to be on holiday together and Draco was ignoring him and reading. It was really the bloody be all and end all! "What are you reading?" Harry asked.

"John Stuart Mill," Draco said idly, turning a page. "A Muggle philosopher, but one of his inspirations was a Squib teacher. Very intelligent, he had a lot of good ideas for social reform. It's a pity that he wasn't a wizard, we need a wizard like him around."

"Why?" Harry said, confused. The wizarding world was fine- Kingsley had been a good Minister and his successor was a strong man with good values, a family man. Harry also resented the slight implication that this _Mills_ fellow was a better hero than he was. If anything needed saving, Harry could do it. Harry had done it once before. Or didn't Draco believe in his abilities _again?_

Draco snorted. "You only see what you want to see, Harry. You've always been like that, even when we were children- it was black and white, Potter."

Harry sat bolt upright. "Black and white- I _saved _your life!"

Draco got up, his face twisted with anger. "And I saved yours at my house! And my mother, whatever she is, saved yours as well, Potter! Do you want a prize for it- does it really matter in the scheme of things, one life, two lives? People live miserably all over and we're fighting over the same bloody story we were fighting over when we first met! Sometimes I wish I'd never met you again!"

Harry laughed harshly-"All you're good for is a shag, Malfoy!"

"At least I'm good for something!" Draco tossed his hair out his face, and picked up his book. "You're nothing but a washed up old hero."

Harry sat fuming for a long while. That was the worst fight that they had ever that- they had never resorted to such name calling before, or to bringing up the war to fling in each other's faces like that. Harry sighed- things were so bad- so horribly, terribly bad, and he had no idea how to fix it. Harry walked into the house and fixed himself a stiff drink of vodka from the cooling cabinet. He had no idea where Draco was, or if he had left, and right now he didn't care. Oh, that was a lie- he cared desperately, but he had no idea how to fix this- how to fix _them_.

If he lost Draco he'd lose the will to live, he knew that- Draco was his soul mate, as much as he had one, but his soul was a twisted and vicious place, haunted by war and a bad childhood and rough memories. It probably was the same for Draco- there was so much they kept hidden away that never came out, that they never said, or touched on, or wished was gone. Harry wanted so much to be a part of Draco, but Draco shut him out.

And he did the same.

Harry poured a large tumbler full of vodka and forced it down- on his empty stomach it was working fast.

Full of Dutch courage, Harry went to the back garden again. Draco was in the pool, swimming laps. The sun had set, and he looked like some beautiful, unearthly thing in the moonlight. Harry had no idea how he could be so cruel to something so slim and delicate and lovely- something that obviously had been a gift to him from the gods, something that he should have treasured, and worshipped, not treated as though it was something to fling away and mock. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, dizzy with drink and arousal- he was lucky, so bloody lucky.

Draco stopped swimming and came to the edge of the pool, his blond hair plastered to his head, and he looked up at Harry uncertainly.

"Are you coming in?" he finally asked, offering Harry an olive branch.

"I'm crap at that and I don't have my swimming trunk," Harry said, gesturing to his jeans. "I can go in and get them, if you like."

"Don't," Draco eyes glittered as he looked Harry up and down with interest. He slipped his hands under the water and it began to ripple. After a moment he threw out his own wet black trunks to the shore beside Harry. Harry grinned. "Be adventurous, Potter."

Harry laughed back, taking off his clothing as quickly as he could despite his drunken state, and slipping into the water. The water was warm- the pool had warming charms, thankfully. Harry waded merrily to where Draco was treading water, his body slipping alluringly in and out of view.

Harry slipped his arms around Draco's waist and slid one hand lower to cup his behind. "I've got you," Harry rasped.

"Hmm," Draco agreed, rubbing his nose against Harry's as he slipped his legs around Harry's waist. The water made them both more buoyant and Harry waded toward the wall of the pool in order to get some sort of leverage.

Harry brushed his lips against Draco's which immediately opened for his access, their tongues sliding hot and moist against each other. Draco was an amazing kisser- his mouth was pliant, sweet and gentle and he melted into Harry's kisses, his body lax and gentle underneath him. Draco was brilliant like that in bed- he knew when to fight and when to surrender- and now he was kissing Harry and moaning gently, these beautiful kittenish sighs, as if both begging and accepting that Harry would take care of him.

"Need you," Draco whispered, biting along Harry's neck and then soothing the little bites with licks of his tongue. "_Need_ you."

Gods, he was going to drive Harry mad- so mad.

"Hold on," Harry said, stroking Draco's entrance with his fingers as he kissed him. "Hold on-"

Harry leapt out of the pool and with lighting speed got his wand from his jeans pocket. He jumped back into the pool with a splash and then pulled Draco close to him, who immediately closed his eyes and buried his head on Harry's shoulder- Harry often felt that Draco needed to rely on Harry but wouldn't admit it, and Harry wished that he would- it would make their relationship a lot more honest, as Harry did need to be needed.

"_Harry_," Draco moaned, arching his body back against the edge of the pool- "Harry, Harry-"

Harry moved forward and completely forgot his thought, but he had the feeling, in the distant recesses of his memory, that it was profound.

* * *

But the holiday didn't change much. Something was on Draco's mind. Harry could see that. Draco was there, but not actually _there_, one minute he'd be listening and laughing with Harry about a story in which Ron got his foot caught in a drain pipe while chasing a robber, and then the next moment he'd be staring off into the distance, his pinked cheekbones and solemn grey eyes tired and worried. It frightened Harry and for some reason put him in mind of the war, when Draco's soft mouth had looked down turned and hardened, and his eyes hunted like a rabbit waiting for the kill. Harry wished that he could take him away, but they were away- out of the country and on holiday.

Whatever it was, it was in Draco's mind, and he wasn't sharing it with Harry, and that bothered him as well. Draco had always been a master at compartmentalizing and now that he had moved to Darby to work, Harry felt even more shut out.

Harry leaned over Draco and brushed a kiss along his neck. They had gone out walking today to the village to buy something to bring back for Teddy for a souvenir and oddly enough hadn't rowed about their final purchases- a stuffed chameleon and a little replica toy broom that looked like his newest model. Teddy would pretend to hate the chameleon, but in his childish fashion he would sleep with it every night.

"I'm knackered," Harry said, looking down at the pool. They had only a half-day tomorrow and they would have to take the portkey back to England. Draco would have to Floo back up north, which would be worse on him. Harry sighed.

Draco nodded vaguely. "I'll be in in a minute."

Harry half-expected Draco to slip out one of his large tomes or to go swimming again- he had been doing all the trademark things he tended to do when he was worried; but instead he came inside and undressed entirely, even slipping out of his pants. Harry watched him, entranced by the pinkish glow that had tinged his normally creamy white skin, a brush of redness painting his cheekbones as though he was permanently embarrassed.

Draco walked around the bed and pulled the white netting aside, and the cooling charms around the bed bent and warped to admit him. With a smirk he slid the peach duvet off Harry's body- like Draco he was nude, they often slept naked together, it had been their custom when they had both lived in London. Harry felt a horrible pang that after tonight Draco wouldn't be in the same bed, the same space, the same city as he was again.

_Say it_, his brain urged. Just one word and it would start be off. Just ask Draco to bond with him, marry him, be with him, _stay_ with him-

Draco straddled his lap teasingly, and the moment was gone, it slipped though his fingers like the sand on the beach that they had tossed in each other's hair playfully.

"Harry," Draco said, thumbing his nipples idly with a soft, distant, expression. "Harry what motivated you when you were a child- when you had such a difficult life?"

"I suppose love," Harry said simply, smiling as he stroked Draco's hair, and pulled him down for a sloppy, open-mouthed, kiss. "Love motivates everyone."

"No," Draco pursed his mouth, rocking against Harry's waist, as though the slide of his hips and the grip of his thighs would distract Harry from the seriousness of the conversation- and it was. Harry slid his hands down to grip Draco's hipbones in place- the movements became smaller and more concentrated on a certain area which was increasingly demanding attention of a more _direct_ nature.

"No," Draco stopped, gripping Harry's shoulder's for leverage. "Before that- when you were a child- before you knew."

Harry paused for a moment. What _had_ motivated him to keep going then? When nothing had been right- that was it. Nothing had been _right_. Despite what Harry had been through, he had known, somehow, that he was right, and his family, and everyone else who had stood silent witness had been wrong- extremely, horribly wrong.

"It was wrong," Harry said firmly, his green eyes flashing. "You just know when something isn't right like that. It just isn't."

Whatever Harry said was obviously the right thing because Draco went soft and pliant in his arms, releasing his hair- Harry knew he would have a headache in the morning, but who bloody cared with a gorgeous blond spread out willingly on top of them?

"Here," Draco said, tossing him a vial with the seeker reflexes neither of them used anymore. "Let's see how well love motivates Harry Potter."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hey everyone! This is an extra-long chapter this week, I was going to cut it down but there was no way to manage it without making it seem awkward so yeah. Oh and remember my knee? Still not healed! I know, it's driving me crazy, but it's almost there. Missy O. left an interesting review about marriage/bonding. A *bunch* of couples in this story. Suspected, real, canon, etc- but there is a happy ending. _

_Enjoy and let me know what you think.  
_

* * *

Chapter 6:

"Draco, Moira is a fat _slag_!" Draco turned away from the blackboard and put down his wand.

He wished that for the general classroom hours the students would at least pretend to have a modicum of respect for him, but he also saw the problem with that. Draco was splashed across their tabloids every morning, and he saw some of them until nearly dinner time, teaching them everything from phonics to basic Magical History. It was hard to hold respect for someone who was the youngest teacher in the school and also a famous figure you saw daily- he was a constant presence.

"I am _not,_ sir-" Moira said with false pride- her robes looked like they belonged on her younger sister, and her hair was piled on high her head with an older woman's glamorous charm. Draco would have _never_ called poor Moira a slag, though- Moira's mother was. Moira's mother, who went by the name Antoinetta, but probably had a normal name like Anne or Bertha; worked in the local brothel, where Moira lived, earning her keep by doing the washings. The other children loved to tease her for it.

"You _are-_" Polly Cartwright continued, her face stiff with anger. Polly was Draco's best student- she had a mind like a Ravenclaw and often times he would secretly make her her own assignment sheets that were twice as hard as the other students just to have something to look forward to when Polly succeeded.

It was the only galleon-bright bit of hope in his miserable life

"No one is a _slag_," Draco rolled his eyes upwardly and hoped that here was a god somewhere that looked over poor children and the wizards who tried to teach them. "What's going on, now, then?"

"Moira took my quill," Polly sniffed, gesturing to the empty slot in her desk.

"I didn't-" Moira said haughtily- pulling on her shoulder of her robes as though to highlight that even being second-hand they were the best in the class. Whores _did_ earn good money, after all.

"Fine," Draco sighed. "For the rest of the period Polly, you may use my quill. And now we _must_ actually try covering something other than quills and slags today."

A few boys roared but with a quick glare from Draco the class settled down.

The bell chimed noting the end of the class and Draco sat down, picking up his roll of parchment. As Polly crossed the threshold, he put up a finger.

"Come here, Polly," Draco said simply.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," Polly said, handing over Draco's now-mangled quill. Draco wondered idly if she didn't have a hippogriff in her tarp bag that she fed her belongings to, because now his quill looked clean chewed through. He waved off the quill, suppressing his shudder.

"Polly," Draco asked. "Have you done the numerology worksheet I gave you last week? How did you find it?"

"Hard," Polly said, sitting in the chair next to Draco's desk without introduction. What Polly lacked in social graces she more than made up for in enthusiasm for reading and mathematics, something that stood her far apart from the rest of her classmates; who either went to class because they knew they had to, to escape the drudgery of work outside, or because it had become habit for them.

Polly handed Draco over the sheet of parchment- when he had created it, it had been a clean sheet of circles and shapes and numbers, now it was folded and refolded like origami, and there was a splatter of grease in one corner.

"Have you thought about Hogwarts, Polly?" Draco asked. "What House you'd like to be in and what you would like to do when you went there?"

Polly bit her lip. "I won't be going to Hogwarts, sir."

"Why?" Draco prodded- "There are scholarships, and funding-"

Polly just shook her head. "I better go home, sir."

Polly didn't come to class again for the rest of the week. Draco had been so miserable that he had ended up rowing with Harry when he didn't pick up the Floo within the third swirl of the fire, accusing him of being out with his friends and of putting them ahead of their relationship. Harry had lashed out that Draco was becoming obsessed with his job and with some other man in Darby, an idea that was frankly laughable, but it just went to show you that both of them were bloody insecure, frightened little idiots who couldn't be arsed to sit down and save their relationship or to have a real conversation. Instead when actual, important things happened in their life they pushed each other aside and made a mockery of everything Draco had once believed in.

He was almost as ashamed of what they were doing as when he had been having the affair during the time with Algernon Bones.

Draco loved him so much, but he didn't know how to fix them. And Harry was increasingly becoming the back issue to the melodrama that was going on around him everyday-including little Polly Cartwright and her sudden, mysterious absence from school.

Finally, during one of his nearly-daily tutoring sessions he cornered Benjy Kirke alone. Kirke was the class tell-all and if he hadn't been born in such reduced circumstances he would have given Daphne Greengrass and her _News of the Globe_ a run for her gold in terms of the way he spread information.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it, sir," Kirke began, which wasn't a very convincing start to any tale.

"Relax, Benjamin," Draco sighed. "Whatever happened I'm sure the other person was extremely wrong and you were absolutely innocent and tricked into doing it. Now, what do you know about why Polly Cartwright hasn't been to school in a week?"

"Aurors aren't going to come here for truancy issues, Mr. Malfoy," offering Draco a very valuable nugget of information, but also a very obvious one. It was clear to anyone with two eyes in their heads that Aurors and Dismal Alley hadn't been in close proximity since before the war with the Dark Lord, and perhaps even after that- Draco wondered why- was someone keeping them out? Was it an issue of wizardpower? Or were there multiple causes?

Of course, Draco could have slapped himself. Harry was an Auror.

"We'll worry about Aurors, later," Draco said idly, thinking he had more than one issue with a certain Auror to smooth over. "I was wondering if you knew anything about Polly's parents."

"Polly hasn't got a mum," Kirke tossed out, which was rich coming from a boy whose mother had been married twice. "But her dad works up at the factory."

"The factory?" Draco repeated.

Benjy Kirke looked at Draco as though he were daft. "The factory up around the end of the High Street. You'll smell it before you see it, sir."

For the first time in the months Draco had been teaching young Kirke, he was right. The air on the lumpy, sodden hill was thicker, not from any great magical decrease in elevation- but from the smell. The smell was like sawdust, but not- like lightening and like the metallic taste of Draco's _Lithia_ water potions. It was heavy and sodden and clung to the body like the aftermath of loss- depression was in the air long before Draco had ever seen the building, not just the depression of the mind and spirit, but also a long economic depression that had taken ages to set in.

The building was ageless- as far as Draco was concerned it could have been fifteen years old or it could have been older than the Standing Stones, but for the seamless bricks and mortar that held it there. Everything was grey- not one of the bricks was red, not one patch of the mortar resembled it's original off-white color. The facade of the building had not been cleaned with a wand, or by soap or water for so long that it had simply hunched in on itself and given up. The place was sad- as sad as anything Draco had ever seen, and he had seen some tragedies, he supposed.

There was no sign over the building to announce the name of the proprietor, no bell to ring, no handle to knock. After a few moments Draco simply gave up and strode into the building.

There was a desk, but no receptionist. Perhaps one day they had ran out of the funding to keep her, or perhaps one day the poor witch had simply quit without notice- Draco liked to hope she had at least gone to sunnier climes, somewhere where there wasn't soot and sawdust and ashes that were choking each breath of air. Giving up on anyone giving him much help in the way of directions, Draco flung open the grimy double doors, the handles caked in fine ash that clung to his hands due to the slight static.

There was row upon row of hunched over wizards at long desks, their bodies turned away from him like at the Great Hall at Hogwarts- an uneasy memory, but there was nothing so fond and simple and childlike in what these men where doing. In between the long rows of tables sat a huge tree trunk, as though a mighty redwood had been felled and brought to this room whole and not severed at all, simply tossed by some obliging giant at these men to- what? Carve?

Draco watched them. One man at the head of the table would work a wand, and he was the _only_ man at each table with a wand. Using some complex motion he would strip the bark off a certain length and pass it into a pile into the middle. The rest of the men would set to carving and hollowing out the length of wood by hand. It was a laborious process which seemed to scatter dust and particles into the air and everywhere on the men's out of fashion work robes. They didn't look up- not to the closed windows, not to a clock, or to sneak a _tempus_. Just like all the children he had taught these men looked haunted and tired, though focused.

A sudden sharp whistle blow jerked Draco to attention. All of the men got up from their work and moved one seat forward, and a foreman, or what Draco assumed was one appeared at a balcony overhead. He noticed Draco.

"You, sir," he growled with ill-humor. "Who are you?"

"Draco Malfoy," Draco said, tossing back his hair, and adopting a haughty facade for the first time in ages.

"Go on," the man said, spitting on the floor, in what Draco assumed was some sort of hard-nosed disbelief. He motioned for Draco to come and join him in surveying the men. After a moment Draco decided that it was probably best that he did whatever the man wanted- as Benjy had told him, for whatever reasons the Aurors didn't come to Dismal.

"Wilfred," the man said, offering a dirty, meaty hand. Draco took it and met his eyes without a shudder or a blink- he was well versed in these sort of power games from the Death Eaters and although he hadn't passed them at sixteen at twenty-four he was a bit more hardened and a lot more clever.

"Pleasure," Draco said, withdrawing his hand, and the wizard wheezed out a laugh.

"Oh you _are _quick," Wilfred nodded approvingly. "Potter probably dances to your tune. So what do you want with my men, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Cartwright," Draco said simply, not offering any more information, he had learned a long time ago that saying too much to the wrong person could cost him in the end.

"Works here," Wilfred replied jutting his chin out over the vast wasteland without specifying a specific person- obviously like Draco, he too, had learned the prudence in waiting until someone had sweetened the pot.

Draco sighed and fished out a ten-galleon piece from his pocket. Wilfred's eyes lit up and he reached out a hand, but Draco withdrew the gold carefully. "I need to speak to Cartwright alone- you'll let me use your office alone for a few moments, and make sure I can leave unharmed."

Wilfred nodded, and Draco tossed him the coin- once shaking his hand had been more than enough for one day, thank you.

"Cartwright!" bellowed Wilfred, using his lungpower and not _sonorus_ to call over the wizard- like so many men in the factory, Draco had not seen a wand on Wilfred during their exchange. He carefully padded himself and was relieved to still feel his own wand, secure in it's holster.

Cartwright came up the stairs. He was a broad-faced, red-cheeked man who didn't look much older than the oldest Weasley son that Draco had met with the poorly scarred face- which meant that Cartwright couldn't have been more than in his early or mid-thirties. His hair was a non-descript brown and his eyes were a muddy hazel, not like his daughter's blue, but like his daughter's they were small and sharp looking, as though he could see and calculate the world. Even though Draco hadn't yet shared a word with the man, he was pre-disposed to like him- he looked clever, and he had a clever daughter.

"You've got fifteen minutes," Wilfred sniffed, gesturing to the small room at the top of the stairs.

Draco walked behind Cartwright to the room- there wasn't much in there, a desk, and a chair, and a poster that said _Merlin protect all Workers._ Draco sat on the desk and let Cartwright have the chair.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," Draco said, feeling rather stupid, introducing himself. Everyone knew him these days- even the blind by the sound of his voice. When he was a child he would have found this sort of fame intoxicating, but now he only found it a sword with more edges than sides.

"Hmm" Cartwright nodded, looking down at Draco's shoes. Harry had brought him those shoes in Marbella and they had been a thousand galleons on sale- Draco hadn't even thought a thing of it, or frankly, had Harry, the two of them had only laughed and kissed and went on to buy each other another priceless trinket. "Our Polly talks of nothing else but Mr. Malfoy this and Mr. Malfoy that."

"She's very smart, your daughter," Draco smiled. "Polly is a very good student, I don't exaggerate when I say she's my brightest, Mr. Cartwright. I'm sure you're well aware of that, though."

"I am," Cartwright beamed with pride. "She's like my wife Ellie. Now that was a witch who could read- anything that wasn't spellotaped down she'd read and read. She was the sort of witch that would have made a good teacher. Ellie just understood the unfairness of life, and how to reach a child. But she's gone now."

"I'm sorry." Draco said by rote. "But there are ways you could further Polly's education, Hogwarts for example has scholarships-"

"Scholarships-" Cartwright looked down at Draco shoes and then up at his face again. "_Scholarships_ are all well and good for those who can afford it, _Mr_. Malfoy, but I have four other children at home, and as soon as Polly finishes school she'll be expected to work and provide for the family. You don't think I'd let her sit her OWLs or even her NEWTs if I could- but we're barely getting by as it is on my salary here and once her brothers and sisters are older it's books and clothes and all that for them as well. Tell me who will provide me with that for them, hey?"

Draco bit his lip. "Is it so very bad working here? Do they not provide you a decent wage?"

"Wages," Cartwright seemed a bit more mollified that someone was listening to him instead of tossing their opinion his way. "I get five galleons three sickles a week. That's not a living wage- that's barely enough to buy bread on. We tried to get men to go to the Ministry to protest, but the Ministry truly only listens if you are part of a union, like you teachers are. But if we do that, we'll lose our jobs. So we had a protest, but of course nothing went our way. You already know that living here on Dismal is hard. You should have imagined it after the strike."

Draco looked down at his feet- he hadn't expected that talking to Cartwright would leave him with more unanswered questions than resolved issues. Instead of helping a student he had opened yet another gaping wound in the post-War system that needed fixing, and he didn't know what to say or where to begin. He felt helpless and useless and _rich_- somehow fate had thought that he was the person best suited to deal with this problem when all his life he had been the one running from his own. Draco thought that if this was a test, the gods were rather ironic.

"What can I do?" Draco finally said.

"Just teach my daughter the best you can," Cartwright said offering a hand Draco gladly took. "Teach her, and I'll be grateful to you."

When Draco Flooed into his home, Harry was already there. Draco had completely forgotten that this Friday was Harry's half-day and that he had agreed to spend it in Darby with Draco. Draco's mind had been consumed with the students- Polly and Benjy and their grades, and somehow trying to get them up to the Ministry-mandated level of performance before Beltane. Draco had so much on his plate, as well- he also had _no _idea how he was going to handle the increasing discomfort that he was feeling about the social injustice that was taking place in Dismal Alley. Something had to be done, but he wasn't sure if he was the person to do it, or even _how_ to do it. Everything felt as though it was creating a mass of pressure, and frankly Draco couldn't deal with a surly Harry Potter, spoiling for a fight.

"You're late," Harry growled from the table.

Draco sighed. Harry had even done up the table in an attempt to be romantic; there was Draco's white tablecloth that he never used because it stained so easily and it took several spells to clean, and the good china Aunt Andromeda had gifted him when he had moved into his flat, monogrammed with his initials. Harry had even cooked all of Draco's favorites- steak and chips with truffle sauce and Teddy's berry crumble for dessert. Draco was starting to feel like a wanker.

"I am sorry," Draco said defensively. "Can't you see how dirty I am? I've been to see one of my student's parents."

"Couldn't they have made an appointment to see you?" Harry snorted, crossing his arms, and motioning to the food. "You should be able to have a life!"

Draco thought that was rather rich, since Harry ate, slept, and dreamed the Aurors, but if Draco had a career it was too much. Perhaps it _was_ too much for the two of them to have demanding careers and have a long distance relationship, but it was the height of hypocrisy to out one person for doing exactly what the other was. Still, they did that all the time.

Draco laughed harshly. "The only life you want me to have is _Harry Potter's lucky spouse_- you want me to sit at home all day with your adopted little bundles of joy and teach them to read and write and tell them all about the glory days of when I actually had a career and a mind of my own."

Harry's eyes flashed behind his glasses. "You're such a fucking _arse_, Draco!"

"Oh, am I?" Draco shook his head. "You are! You want to control me-"

"I _control_ you?" Harry snorted. "That is so bloody hilarious, you could write for Martin the Mad Muggle- You are so bloody daft! I try and try with you and it's like using _sonorus_ against a brick wall! All you care about is your career and yourself- which actually makes it one thing- your bloody self! Who else in England would deal with a man who moved away from them and keep dating them- I deserve the Order of Merlin again!"

"You should have took the hint when I left then," Draco hissed out dangerously, covering his face with his hands- today had been a miserable day, and all he could see was Polly's father's face in his mind, shaming him for his shoes. Or was that his own father's face, shaming him for being weak? Draco couldn't tell anymore, but he simply couldn't deal with this, not another row with Harry, not again. "Floo home, Harry!"

Draco stormed up the stairs and into the bathroom, turning the water up high and hot. He washed the soot and grime of Dismal Alley and of the factory out of his hair. Draco didn't want to think about Harry right now- he couldn't. All they did was row on a continual loop, like a bad wireless program. Draco was so tired, so very, very tired of it, all he wanted was for their relationship to be as it had been in the beginning- a sweet secretive liaison between two people who had survived the war, and then when Harry had been recuperating, it had been something tender and loving as well. Draco wished he could pinpoint the day that everything had gone wrong and fix them, but they were so badly down this path it was like they didn't remember how wonderful they had once been.

Draco slid into his pants and turned on the wireless on some pop jazz station. It was shit music, but it was better than thinking, better than seeing that factory, and all of those desperate wizards, stripped of their wands, working like slaves. Was that his parents' glorious dream of the world under the Dark Lord? Would that have happened to all the children of the half-bloods? _Gods-__  
_

* * *

Just as Draco was starting to doze off a chink of light woke him. It was Harry. He was dressed in in his Auror tracksuit and he had been running, Draco could tell-Harry's hair was plastered to one side of his face.

Without asking he sat down on the side of Draco's bed and took off his shirt and undid his shoes. Draco watched breathlessly as Harry undid his bottoms and pants- Harry had a wonderful body had slid away from view in his clothes- he was built like a proper Auror with strong, powerful arms, and lean legs from running, and his golden skin shown in the lamplight that filtered from upstairs. He was so bloody perfect, and Draco didn't deserve him. Some part of Draco was waiting for the day that Harry would wake up and laugh and be just as suspicious of Draco as he had been that sixth year that they had eyed each other across the Great Hall. Instead now they eyed each other across the bed, the lust and need as palpable in the air as the crisp breeze.

Harry pulled back the sheet and slid into the bed. Draco took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand- without them Harry went from _alright for a night_ to _insanely attractive_- which was why Draco made sure he was the only one that saw Harry without his glasses and saw the full effect of his amazing eyes.

"I didn't mean it," Harry said, toying with the waistband of Draco's pants until he finally slipped them down off his waist. "You're not cross, are you?"

Draco shook his head slightly and wrapped a leg and arm around Harry. If he could just exist like this- in this bubble, sometimes he thought that he could be happy. It was such a stupid, simplistic thought. Draco closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Harry- earthy, woodsy and primal- so desirable, and so utterly _his_. If he could just exist in this space and time, the time where they were together, feeling and thinking the same things, hoping and desiring the same thoughts for each other- this moment of union, Draco could almost believe this one thing could make him happy. Of course he needed more as a person, everyone did- but he wanted to believe-he _so_ wanted to believe that Harry alone could be his salvation.

"I love you," Draco whispered, pressing a kiss to Harry's neck.

Harry's left hand stroked the inside of his thigh, slowly tracing upwardly, in a soothing, but teasing manner. "I love you more."

"I thought I sent you home," Draco smiled back.

"You did," Harry knocked their foreheads together. "And I left. This is only a dream, Malfoy."

The smile slipped off of Draco's face. He gripped Harry's back, feeling his nails break skin.

_One day he'll really go,_ his mind whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I know the last chapter was sort of hard, but things will pick up soon. A lot of canon characters will be coming by to visit. Especially to visit Draco. ilreies was wondering if Draco was dreaming during the last scene of the last chapter. No he was awake. Draco likes to believe that anything postive that happens to him is going to be taken away soon or isn't 'real'. Which is why he keeps thinking Harry's on the edge of breaking up with him. Which is why he's hard on Harry, because their relationship isn't 'real'__._

_Drama. More in this chapter. Let me know what you think._

* * *

Chapter 7:

Harry looked in the mirror at Grimmauld Place and fixed his tie. Hermione and Ron had asked him to go out to the fanciest restaurant in wizarding London, _The Pantheon_ and so Harry had gone with Draco to splurge on some new dress robes. Draco was coming, which was nice-during the last month they had reached an unofficial truce with their fighting, after the row at Draco's house. Nothing too bad had been happening- a few bickerings here and there followed by the usual make up shags which Harry had come to expect. To be honest, Harry would much rather the shags alone without the bickering, as he much preferred unrestricted access to Draco; years ago the fighting had become rather a turn off.

Harry sighed.

He would do anything for Draco- _anything_. But he didn't know how to make sense of the fact that they just knew all each other's sore points and managed to set each other off, time and time again. Sometimes Harry could smell a quarrel brewing and mentally he could say to himself _oh, I've gone and said that, Draco will kill me _but once he had it, it was always too late. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Harry just had to learn he supposed, but three plus years hadn't taught him and he didn't know if a lifetime would make a difference.

Relationships were damned work.

Draco came out of the bathroom, twirling a piece of caramel-colored hair between his fingers- he had gone and potioned it back last week, which meant that Draco had come to a decision about something. Draco only messed about with his hair color when he was thinking about something. Harry felt a tendril of fear creep down his spine and toward his fingers, which went rather numb. Was this the calm before yet another storm? This cinnamon-brown was the same color Draco had had his hair when they had first met and began shagging; when Draco had been with Algernon Bones and it had been an affair- was Draco having an affair?

Could Harry be any more paranoid?

"You're gorgeous," Harry said to Draco, more because it was true than because he was noticing anything that Draco was wearing. Sure Draco had on the newest style of robes- cut close to the body, with new shoes and his new hair and those side swept bangs that swished a bit when he looked down; but Harry didn't have to look to know that he loved Draco and needed him. It was a tangible ache, between his ribs.

Draco sighed. "A pretty face and not much else."

Harry stilled. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Draco said sharply, picking up his cufflinks. "I could be thinking about the Fifth Law of Transfiguration and all you'd notice is that I went and got my hair dyed another color. Sometimes I wonder what you see in me, or rather, _who_."

Harry didn't even know if there was a Fifth Law of Transfiguration; he'd never sat his bloody NEWTs. But Draco hadn't ever sat his NEWT in Transfiguration either, he was a maths schoolteacher, not a professor. Harry wasn't an idiot- he knew exactly what Draco was trying to imply.

"Three years is a long time for a revenge fuck, Malfoy," Harry said evenly, though his mouth was twisted with anger.

"Merlin," Draco said, throwing down the cufflinks- one scattered underneath the floorboards, the little diamonds winking out of sight. "Right-_right. _You should go on to Weasley and Granger's do without me, I'm not fit company for anything at the moment, let alone people who can barely tolerate me."

"Draco," Harry said, alarmed, as Draco sank into the squashy chair in his bedroom.

This had been going on for weeks and he had no idea what had been bothering Draco so deeply- at first he had been so stupid to think it an affair, but Draco was as invested in their rows and their make ups as much as he had ever been. Harry had no idea what was bothering Draco so deeply, but every time he saw him, it was worse and worse and he was beyond worried. Draco was pale and wan and he was losing weight, and he looked as he had just after the war when Harry had seen him in Teddy's nursery and Harry had only put his foot in it and mocked Draco. He hadn't known then how mentally vulnerable Draco was, but he knew it now. And Harry knew now that he should have been protecting and caring for Draco instead of jumping to conclusions and falling back on his old jealousies, but it had been difficult, especially since they had been living apart.

"Draco, what's going on?" Harry pressed. "Tell me."

"I'll tell you tonight," Draco said, rubbing at a stress line forming between his eyebrows. "I really can't come tonight, Harry, I'm utterly exhausted- just go."

"I should stay," Harry said, swallowing around a stress knot forming in his throat. "I'll tell Hermione and Ron that I can't come-"

"No," Draco said sharply, looking up from his hands. "Please. I'll wait for you here, I just need the time alone, honestly."

Harry went. He felt so uncomfortable leaving. There was clearly something in the air-something shaky and horrible and dangerous. Harry wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to Grimmauld Place to sort through things with Draco. But in the end he went to the restaurant. Ron and Hermione had probably been waiting on him for a while already and he couldn't keep the waiting any more time, especially due to something he couldn't control. He could only hope that Draco was at Grimmauld Place resting and hadn't Floo'ed back to Darby to get papers to grade or books to read- lately Draco had taken to reading the oddest looking tomes by people with names like _Karl Marx _and _Vladimir Rosier_.

Hermione was seat in a dim booth in a corner wearing pretty blue robes with a soft looking neckline. Her hair was piled on her head in a neat bun and she had even been so whimsical as to place a fabric flower it in- a distinctly un-Hermione-ish thing to do. Ron was wearing his old Auror robes, Harry supposed he had just gotten off from his shift and hadn't had the time to change, but it was odd seeing a _glow_ about the two of them. Harry felt as he had when they were children and Ron and Hermione had first began dancing around each other- out of the loop and not at all certain if he wanted in it. Harry sat down and smiled uneasily at his friends.

"Hiya," Harry said, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it in oil more to have something to do than because he was hungry. "How was work, Ron?"

"Good, good," Ron beamed, which was _strange_- Harry stared at him- Ron never didn't have a thing to complain about with Robards; especially on days when Harry wasn't there to break up the monotony, or play good Auror to his bad Auror.

Hermione took a sip of her water and place it down on the table. "I hope you don't mind that we ordered, Harry- I thought that Malfoy would be coming with you."

"Draco wasn't feeling well," Harry said, which thankfully wasn't a lie, so this time his excuse would stand up to Hermione's peering inspection. "He's resting at home, but he sent me on ahead, it wouldn't have done for the both of us to miss out."

"Is Malfoy alright?" Ron asked politely after they had ordered- out of the two of them, Ron could always play niceties better because he had seen Draco worried and harried during the time he had been unwell after the capture of Avery and Yaxley. Hermione, who had never seen such weakness from Draco only knew them as a pair of miscreants who could go along merrily having affairs as though nothing even mattered- although she tended to blame Draco for the corruption, not Harry.

"He's just a bit overtired," Harry said non-committally, not really even sure how to answer that question. Draco seemed to be seriously considering something and all Harry could do was hope that it wasn't the future of their relationship, because he'd really rather not see it end anytime soon.

"The North is an odd place to work, I'd imagine," Hermione said, offering a small nugget of information, then pausing to dab at her mouth.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Mate," Ron said, eyeing Harry carefully. "Don't you remember the Windward Wand Factory strikes?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Harry had been livid that both he and Ron hadn't been able to join the Aurors and go and quell the rowdy striking workers. But that was back when Harry had just come from America and there had still been some fear that he could have easily been captured and held for ransom by wild vigilante groups for a price.

In the end Harry and Ron had been glad they hadn't been sent- the wizards up north had resorted to something called trench warfare and had been virtually unstoppable, throwing out not just hexes and spells but also had been able to hide away with such stealth that the Aurors who came back with spoke of it with envy. In the end Minister Shaklebot had had to call a state of emergency and have people from the Department of Mysteries do something that no one knew about to this day.

"That's in Dismal Alley," Ron said, putting down his fork tiredly. "Or just on the outskirts of it. That all borders the area the Muggles call Darby. Didn't you know that Malfoy was working around there?"

"No," Harry said, clutching the delicate stem of his wineglass with too much force. "No, I had no _bloody_ idea."

"Well," Hermione smiled, hoping to resolve some of the tension. "I think it's rather admirable of Malfoy to work with high-risk youth. It sets an example, especially to those reporters who said such awful things about him being a teacher only for show."

Harry smiled shakily at her. He knew that Hermione was only saying it for his benefit, and he was grateful to her, but he was so bloody infuriated with Draco at the moment that he couldn't even form an appropriate response. Draco had _deliberately_ taken a job that would move him away from Harry, fine- but to a dangerous location as well? Harry couldn't agree with that- not ever. Draco meant the world to him and he couldn't be expected to sit idly by and allow Draco to sacrifice himself to a bunch of stampeding workers when there were a bunch of safer places to teach down south, or even north if he wanted, like Neville at Hogwarts.

"Do you want us to wait for your blood pressure to go down, mate?" Ron cheeked, "Or can we order our pudding?"

Harry laughed-he was being stupid and transparent, he knew, but wasn't all love rather stupid and transparent?

"Harry," Ron began, as soon as their dessert dishes were served. "There was a reason that we asked you here tonight-"

"To pick up the tab, certainly," Harry sighed, and Hermione smirked at him.

"No, you git," Ron muttered, his ears turning red which meant that it was either embarrassing or serious. "We've been best friends our whole lives, the three of us, you know? Good and bad- well we had a lot of bad with the lot of sociopaths trying to kill us, but we managed it. Well, what Hermione and I wanted to know was if you'd stand for me at my wedding- be my best man, this spring?"

Harry beamed. "You're finally going to do it?"

"_Finally_," Hermione muttered. "This is a new wizarding world, Harry Potter. Not everyone has to get married to start a family."

Harry burst out laughing- "_Oh ho!_ Is that why- did Ronald Weasley get his own through the hoop?"

Ron laughed delightedly. "You'll be a godfather twice, Harry! Hermione's just cross all the time lately- she says that the baby's giving her trouble."

"She is," Hermione scowled. "If she comes out a rotten priss I'm going to leave her with her Uncle Harry while I run off with Ron and never come back."

"I wouldn't mind," Harry said, holding in his note of wistfulness. He'd always wanted a family of his own- a little son or daughter to live with him always, to teach to fly, or to tell stories to, or just simply love. He'd lost out on the infancy years with Teddy-chasing after his own sense of freedom and lunacy in New York. Harry would love nothing more than to adopt a child of his own with Draco and settle down but he knew that that would be impossible, especially considering the state of their relationship right now.

"Sorry Harry," Ron said with a wink. "We can't both marry Hermione."

Harry laughed. "I don't think that idea ever crossed either of our minds, but I'll try and work it into my wedding speech."

"Merlin," Hermione smiled. "Wedding speech. Soon the bells will be ringing for you, Harry. We _are_ old."

"In what world is twenty-four old?" Ron huffed, as they got their cloaks ready and made their way out of the restaurant. "The best adventures are yet to come, Curly, my girl."

* * *

Harry made his way up the stairs to Grimmauld Place. He wished that he had the confidence to go and ask Draco to bond with him now, especially in light of everything that he had learned tonight. But if he did it now it would only look as though he was jumping along the bandwagon of his mates- and Draco loathed that weakness of Harry's. Harry sighed. He had had three years of opportunities to propose to Draco and he had taken none of them. There had been days where the sunlight in the morning had hit across Draco's face and he had thought _I need this man, forever_; moments when they had been sharing a laugh and taking the piss out of each other, even moments when they had been rowing or fighting and Harry hadn't said a word, just let it slip away.

Harry sighed and let himself into the house- maybe _that_ would be something to work into Ron and Hermione's wedding speech. And of course Draco would love stealing their thunder.

Harry went upstairs. The light in his bedroom was on and Draco was at the desk, reading a book in French by a man called Comte. Every now and again he'd turn a page and make a notation with his quill to the side of his book-his hand was ink-stained and there was a cigarette burning idly by, the only company Draco had in the room. After a moment Draco dropped the quill and picked up the fag, blowing acrid smoke into the air. To Harry the scene was morbid and strange- whatever Draco was reading was obviously affecting him deeply and keenly and Harry didn't know whether or not he should intervene.

"Draco," Harry said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Not very amused," Draco sighed, looking at his book and then looked up at Harry as if he'd just noticed him. "Oh- fine, fine. How was your dinner do? Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes," Harry said, and then just as a way to shock Draco out of his reading, added- "Ron and Hermione have settled on a date for their wedding."

"Hmm," Draco said, lighting a fag by _incendio_ a habit that Harry hated because it exposed his face to fire- something that reminded Harry all too much of the one and only time he had seen Draco close to flames. "It must mean that Granger's pregnant, then. She's been fighting that wedding like Allison fights the stray cats that wander into my back garden. Weasley must be pleased, in any event."

"He is," Harry growled, annoyed that Draco had made something that pleased him and his friends so much sound so tawdry and common. Harry hated that ability of Draco's- to make everything that he didn't like or that didn't please him sound beneath him. "They asked after you."

"Hmm," Draco said, turning to his book. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

"Draco," Harry finally snapped. "What's going on with you and Dismal Alley? Why didn't you even bother telling me that you worked there?"

Draco turned around and sighed. He looked tired, as though he had been dreading this conversation, and Harry thought that was a rather bad indication of the state of their relationship- if Draco could keep a secret this long, and Harry liked going to see his mates better without Draco there were some very serious problems in play. And Harry had a rather funny feeling everything was going to come out tonight.

"I didn't know at first," Draco said evenly, as though he was holding onto his temper, but only barely. "I only knew that the job offer was a challenge and that it was in Darby. And I told you I'd speak to you about it tonight, but yet _again_ you went off and discussed me with your friends first without my permission!"

"Your _permission_," Harry scoffed. "I don't need your permission to discuss this! Besides, I didn't even know what the bloody hell I was discussing, thanks to you- I asked my friends one question and it comes out that you are working in the most dangerous region in the UK, Draco! Are you absolutely mad? You should come home and find a safer assignment."

"You don't get to dictate to me, _Harry Potter," _Draco sneered, rising from the table and getting right up in Harry's face. His grey eyes flashed with light and he looked, for the briefest moment, intimidating. "I have the right to take whatever position I wish, and to help people where I want, and I find it rather rich that you can go around Auror-ing and playacting the hero an age after defeating the Dark Lord but if I want to teach some disadvantaged children their gods and their maths I'm the baddie here!"

"Don't fucking turn this around, Malfoy!" Harry snarled, beginning to pace the room like a trapped convict. "One you hid all this from me, and two that area is not safe. _Not safe_! There was a strike there when I first joined the Aurors that lasted days- men were killed, Draco- good Aurors died because those madmen that work up there decided to quit working and starting fighting in their trenches like wild animals, throwing hexes and spells without respect for the law or even for their own neighbors. I don't know how you can defend those people after what you know went through in the war."

"Those people are _forced_ to fight," Draco said passionately, with more passion than Harry had seen him show for anything in a long time outside the bedroom. Draco pounded the table for emphasis. "They are paid low wages and denied representation in the Ministry- they aren't allowed to join unions because their managers are afraid that if they do they'll be able lobby for reform in the North, something that is their right, by birth as wizards and witches. They poor and ignorant but they _know _they're being taken advantage of, and the only way they know to get the attention of the government is to deliberately make a scene."

"They'll ruin the peace that we've all worked so hard for," Harry hissed, persisting even though he knew he wasn't right. It was though he was standing on smooth wet rocks, with nothing to hold onto to, only a dream Draco was willing to spell into ashes. "Is that what you want- war again-"

Draco shook his head. "It isn't peace if people are still suffering. This isn't freedom with oppression. It's a sham. It's a lie."

"I want you to come home, Draco," Harry said softly, taking his opportunity at long last. "I want us to be together. I'll help you with this- I'd do anything for you. Just come home and we can figure out what went wrong in Darby."

Draco shook his head quickly with a harsh laugh. "You're right you know."

"About what?" Harry asked. _Slipping- slipping-_

"You could have been a Slytherin. And you would have done so well. Better than me. You stand there and tell me that _leaving_ Dismal is the best way to help Dismal. And I almost believe you. But I can't. Because you don't want me in London to help me. You want me in London for yourself. I'd do anything for you, Harry. I cleaned up your sick, for Merlin's sake. But I _do not_ want to be slotted into the place that Ginny Weasley left empty in your imagination- taking care of children, and living in a sweet little house in a village somewhere. Because _that _is a fucking insult."

"I just want us both safe," Harry said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I just want us both happy, together."

"I can keep myself safe," Draco hissed. "I'm not seventeen anymore. And as for happy, when is the last time either of us has been that?"

"What are you saying, Draco?" Harry glared at him. "If you're so bloody brave, spell it out, will you?"

"Fine," Draco said harshly. "We live apart, we never talk about anything important and when we do we disagree entirely. What do we have left, Harry? Shagging? I believe they have paid escorts for issues like that."

"You _are _a cold bastard," Harry hissed, watching Draco pack up his book and his pajama bottoms. "I swear to all the gods, if you leave this time, I'll not go looking for you. I never want to see you again, Malfoy!"

"Thank Circe," Draco snorted dryly, and he was gone.

Harry sank to the floor. The chair that Draco had been sitting in rattled and the curtains moved, floating in and out of their own accord as though moving on a senseless breeze. The candle flickered and then went out entirely. Harry sat in the darkness for a long moment before the tears came. It had been years since he had lost control of his magic like that, but of course it would be Draco who would make him slip so deeply. Draco had always been his downfall.

Harry bent his knees to his chest and began to sob. It was over- it was over.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hello again guys! I'm so happy everyone enjoyed last chapter even though it was the dreaded breakup - well, for a time, anyway. TCU14 wrote a wonderful review. I when I wrote this story I wanted it to be less easy to sympathize with Harry vs. Draco, and I also wanted to make it similar to every break up, ever. Oh and remember how I promised some canon characters? Here's one now. _

___Let me know what you think. And I have a feeling they will be back together soon, but not *too* soon. That wouldn't be much fun._

* * *

Chapter 8:

Draco smoked another fag.

It was the weekend. Thank the gods. Funny he had broken up with Harry Potter on a weekend. At least that meant that he could lick his wounds for two whole days before going back to work and having students throw Weasley products at him whilst he tried to teach them basic arithmetic.

Draco made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea. He had spent the most of night crying- it was safe to admit that in one's head, out loud it was rather disastrous. Once he had had a vow never to cry again after the war had ended, but it had been a rather short sighted vow- back then Draco had never imagined that he and Harry Potter would begin a fling that would carry into a three year love affair. And it had been love. Gods, it still was love, love had never been the problem, the problem had been logistics and practicality.

In the end they had made each other miserable and Draco had simply been the one to admit defeat first in the staring match.

Harry would have called him a coward.

In most ways Harry would have been right. Draco had always been intimidated by the way Harry loved him- big and large and wide, encompassing all of his flaws and loving them too, as though nothing was wrong with Draco and everything was beautiful. Draco didn't know what to do with love like that- so unconditional and free, and so he poked holes in it and mocked it and waited for it to fade into nothing. And like all good things it did eventually come to some sort of an end.

Draco bent his head and rested it against his arms, his forehead against the cool wood table. Three years- _three years_ over and done with. It was so bloody impossible to think about and yet Draco couldn't get it out of his mind. There were so many good memories; going to eat at the pub in Kent that first windy day after flying to kissing on the dance floor at the gay club in London, even the first time they'd shagged in Draco's flat in Camden. So many memories, so many good times. Draco had honestly thought he'd met his emotional match in Harry-he'd never actually thought about forever and children and a life together as Harry had, but he'd _certainly_ never thought about a breakup either.

He lit another cigarette. Draco _was not_ going to cry. Not anymore- there was nothing to be done about the relationship anymore, not the way it had been going on, not in the last half-year. He and Harry had shit all over everything wonderful they had once had and now there was nothing left. Perhaps it was some sort of a lesson for the future or perhaps it was just a sign that two people like them didn't belong together. He had to go on- Draco couldn't live in the past, thinking about dead people, dead times, and dead loves. That had nearly drove him mad once, and he wouldn't let it happen again.

Allison, Draco's cat came traipsing down the stairs, curling her softly purring body against Draco's leg. Draco smiled down at her-she was begging for food, but she also rather comforting in a furry, cheeky way.

Draco flicked the ashes of his cigarette onto the floor uncaringly- he'd banish them later- and set the kettle to heat with a flick of his wand. Allison began to mew as soon as he pulled out her sack of cat food and plopped herself rather inelegantly for a cat on the little mat that was next to her bowl on the floor.

A knock came on the door. Draco tilted his head towards it with a curl of his lip- very few people knew that he lived in Darby and very few people would come to the door after he had put the screen over his fireplace last night. If it was Harry trying to continue their arguing he'd have Apparated straight into Draco's wards to holler whatever nonsense at him, and Aunt Andromeda and Teddy would have respected his privacy, like Cho did. The only people left were Weasleys and Leopold Pennyworth, the Headmaster of Draco's school, but Draco doubted that it was Pennyworth, as he'd never come calling on a weekend before. Draco sighed. He was extremely tempted to ignore the banging and climb back into bed and pull the covers over his head until Monday, but it really wasn't an option.

He went to the door, leaving poor Allison mewing for her food, and opened the door with a sigh. It was Astoria Greengrass.

Wait.

_Astoria Greengrass?_

Draco hadn't seen Astoria in _years_. She looked the same as she had always had- long thick wavy honey blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and a placid sort of glow about her intellectual brown eyes. Out of the two Greengrass sisters Draco had always preferred Astoria- she was quicker and kinder, which had always set her apart from Daphne whose only intelligence lay in deliberate malice, not in deliberate humor. Astoria had never been a great beauty- once Pansy had remarked that the reason the Greengrasses were a part of the hunting set was because the horses were the only beasts plainer than they were, but that was cruel. Astoria had once fancied Draco and Pansy had always been a bit of a bitch when it came to marking her territory.

"_Draco_," Astoria cried, flinging herself into Draco's arms. "I can't believe it's you! Isn't it bloody amazing or what, I tell you?"

"I can't imagine what you mean, Tory," Draco laughed, closing the door and ushering her inside. It was so _nice_ to see Astoria Greengrass again- someone normal and decent and from his childhood. It was like living in an actual world instead of feeling flung from here to there like an empty trunk without an owner.

"I'm your next door neighbor," Astoria said, taking one of Draco's offered cigarettes with a thank you. "I came to ask you for some Pepper-Up as I've got to unpack everything before tomorrow and I've no idea how I was going to manage it alone but now I don't have to, do I?"

"I suppose not," Draco drawled, fluffing up her hair on purpose to annoy her. "What are you doing here? You've sunk low if Apollo Greengrass's favorite daughter is living on the outskirts of Dismal Alley."

Astoria fixed her hair with a huff and Draco rolled his eyes at her- she looked like when they were children and Draco had bribed Crabbe and Goyle with puff pastries to throw her into the lake.

"Don't talk to me about all that, you know how overprotective Father is. Besides I've been living in Darby quite longer than yourself- I studied at St. Dymphna's and I just finished my residency so I got to move out of clinical housing."

"Quite impressive," Draco said, with mock solemnity, but he really was rather surprised- Astoria had always been the sort of girl who would jump a fence to prove she could, but Draco had always thought that in the end she would take the conventional route and get married. Well, he had thought they all would, but the war made fools of their plans.

"I know I am," Astoria said arrogantly, tossing back her pretty hair, but she followed it with a tinkling laugh. "Are you teaching up here- I thought you were with Harry Potter down south, the papers couldn't get enough of that."

"It's over," Draco said stiffly. "I might as well tell you first, someone will leak it soon enough. Harry and I are through."

"Oh," Astoria said sympathetically, putting a hand over Draco's. "Do you not want to talk about it, or will wait for my sister to write about it?"

Draco got up as the tea kettle had begun to whistle and cast _silencio_ over it. He motioned for Astoria to take a seat at the table which she did with a soft smile. Draco fed Allison and cut up one of his Aunt Andromeda's cakes and place a slice on each little plate before pouring the tea. He wasn't quite sure how much of anything he wanted to tell Tory Greengrass- they hadn't seen each other since before the war had started and even then they had never been particularly close. Astoria was two years younger than Draco, and to be two years younger and a girl made it so that a close friendship between them would have been pretty difficult task.

"You don't have to tell me a thing," Astoria said, breaking off a bit of cake with her fingers. "I've just come back into your life from the clear blue sky, I don't have the right to ask. I only thought that it might help, talking about it. Purebloods have the ugly habit of keeping everything bottled up like vintage Odgen's."

Draco grimaced at the too apt descriptor. "It's just that I really can not rant about Harry being the Dark Lord incarnate-and I can't actually blame myself. I don't even know where we went wrong."

"Hmm," Astoria nodded, blowing gently over her tea before taking a cautious sip. "Perhaps you can patch it up, then? Was it just a little row over calling him the _Boy Who Lived_ or the _Man Who Conquered_?"

Draco laughed, but it was as brittle as glass just after a storm. "At first it was just little rows, a difference of opinion here and there. Then it grew to just flinging our opinions at each other in order to see what would garner the greatest reaction- everything was a _bloody _competition. And then last night he said something that I just knew was wrong, and I couldn't take the arguing anymore."

"I'm sorry Pushy," Astoria said, using the nickname Draco had gotten as a child for his penchant for shoving and being vocally demanding. Draco barked out a stunned laugh.

"I can't believe you remember that!" Draco barked out. "Merlin and Morgana- I thought everyone had forgotten that from our set."

"You mean you thought you had finally lived it down," Astoria countered easily, with a wide grin. "Are you going to help me move in next door?"

"No, but I'll lend you some Pepper-Up," Draco said, which earned him a jinx to his arm holding the cigarette, causing it to fall in his tea with a splash.

* * *

Moving in all of Astoria's things was physically and magically draining- which was a welcome distraction from everything else going on in Draco's life. Now that he was a bit sweaty and a lot tired Draco wanted nothing more than to fling himself through Astoria's fireplace and into Harry's sitting room- but that wouldn't change anything. This time Harry had told him they were playing for keeps and he had still left, thinking he could live with the consequences, when in all actuality he should have tried and explained to Harry how important having his own career was without being so deliberately rude and incendiary.

But if he was honest with himself the end had been coming for so long he'd forgotten how to enjoy Harry's company. Instead he had been living looking for the hidden insults in every sentence, the snort or eye roll to follow a laugh, even in his worst moments the hexes and curses to fall like when they were children. But Draco still loved him more than anything. And so he was torn- half of his heart was still beating over at Grimmauld Place, and would probably have to remain there.

"I've got chicken curry," Astoria called from her kitchen. "Or we could go out to for chips, what do you reckon?"

"You never cooked that," Draco said with a laugh, pleased to be distracted from his thoughts.

"No," Astoria said, standing in the doorway and motioning for Draco to come and join her. With an exaggerated groan of pain, Draco stretched and sat down at Astoria's kitchen table, watching as she reheated the portions of food with her wand. "My old dorm mate made it for me. She knows I'm an utterly hopeless cook and so she didn't want me so starve. Wine?"

"It _would_ be adequate payment," Draco said and Astoria poked his side with her warm wand.

"I am grateful, you know," Astoria said, levitating their plates over to the table and setting the wine and wineglasses carefully down by hand. "I was hoping that I'd have a friendly neighbor I could bribe into helping me move in, but I never thought it would work out that Draco Malfoy would be living on my quaint little roundabout. It's like living in Wiltshire all over again, although this time I actually feel comfortable in my own home."

"I know exactly how you feel." Draco agreed, raising his wineglass and taking a sip.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Astoria asked, her soft brown eyes betraying nothing but kindness. "It might help- unlike everyone else that you know I don't have an interest one way or the other in your relationship."

"True," Draco admitted, swallowing down a bit of bread. "And that was a problem with our relationship- familial pressure. Well, my aunt wanting me to settle down and his friends rather vocal or _non-vocal _dislike of me. A lot of _be careful Harry-_ing when they could have just tried to get along for the sake of things. Then the press was relentless, and I couldn't deal with that, and then the fact that I couldn't really work in London because if I found a place as a teacher the paparazzi would be down at the school within a week. So I moved up to Darby."

"Sounds like a perfect storm," Astoria said, biting her full bottom lip. She really was _almost_ pretty. "How did you deal with all of that, Draco?"

"He's Harry," Draco smiled involuntarily, looking down at the tabletop. "He's not Harry Potter like in the papers or even the kid that I grew up with. He's absurdly kind and good hearted and sweet and gentle- and funny. But it _was_ a perfect storm, and I suppose I was the first person to give. We had a stupid fight, a blow out fight because I hadn't- well, it was my fault really, and in the end it was over."

"If he cares about you, and he's as wonderful as you say," Astoria said, topping up their wineglasses. "Wouldn't Harry Potter understand? I mean, it couldn't have been as serious as all of that."

"Not to him, but to me," Draco said, thinking about how passionately he felt about the rights of the workers in the wand factory on the outskirts of Dismal Alley, and how completely that had taken him by surprise.

At Astoria's confused expression, Draco elaborated-"Do you know much about the wand factory strike that took place here about four years ago?"

"A bit," Astoria nodded. "Some of the older Healers talk about how some of the wizards that were striking had to be brought in for injuries when they fought back against the Aurors. I'm afraid no one speaks particularly kindly about the Aurors in those sort of conversations. Did Harry blame you for that- that happened years before either of you were at your positions, didn't it?"

"It did," Draco said, staring at the sediment at the bottom of his glass. "But I defended the workers. I also never quite told him how bad it was up here, but that sort of goes back to the issue of the pureblood mentality of keeping secrets that you know are going to cause you problems if they are revealed. Anyway, Harry went off and discussed my job with the Weasleys, a great love of his, discussing everything with the Weasleys. I mean Harry discussed everything from his toilet paper to Ministry secrets with them, that is what few he knew-"

"Oh honestly," Astoria laughed. "I can't imagine! It sounds like a bad marriage, you know the kind our parents used to talk about- where the bad in-laws would stick the poor wife in the dungeon."

"I wish that it would have been that friendly," Draco laughed back, passing Astoria an unlit cigarette. "But it _was _like that on the part of Mother Weasley who is an _absolute_ dragon."

"I don't know," Astoria said, passing her cigarette over to Draco to be lit. "I just can't imagine any of it. I can't imagine you defending the workers of Dismal Alley to a cross Harry Potter. I can't imagine the Weasleys and the Blacks playing the Montagues and the Connaways over all of this. And I really can't imagine you seeing Harry Potter, but I suppose that's because I still see you as Pushy Malfoy with no front teeth ordering around Blaise Zabini when he tried to learn to drive a carriage."

"Blaise was a shit rider and a worse driver," Draco scowled. "And if you call me Pushy again I'll hex you blind Tory Greengrass. Plus, you're exaggerating everything; excepting the issue with the workers. People here are completely taken advantaged of- they are paid less than average wizard and they aren't allowed to unionize since then they'd be allowed petition the Ministry for fair wages. And it's not fair to their children, because they aren't kept in school or sent to Hogwarts because three and four working wizards are needed to keep one family afloat."

"I know," Astoria said sadly, putting down her wineglass. "People put off coming to the hospital for ages for the most superficial injuries not because they are frightened but because they can't afford the Apothecary's fees. The Apothecaries on Dismal Alley make a killing because no one can brew potions correctly- barely anyone has taken their Potions NEWTs, you see. I can't tell you how many children I've seen die or come in severely maimed because of injuries or illness that could have been prevented."

"Wait," Draco said quickly. "Are you a pediatric Healer, Tory?"

"Yes," Astoria nodded. "I thought I mentioned it along the way- but I guess I didn't. Funny, we both work with children."

"We both work with children," Draco repeated and then smiled. "Astoria, you are a bloody genius! That is what we are going to do!"

"Work with children?" Astoria laughed. "Pushy, no offense, but we already _do_ do that my love."

Draco glared, but did not even bother dignifying either the nickname or the cheeky retort with a response. Instead he took Astoria's hands.

"We are going to collaborate," Draco said eagerly. "I have the children when they are students and you have them when they come in as babies and injured young adults. We can make a survey, Astoria. This could transform the wizarding world."

For a moment Astoria's eyes gleamed with an expression that one could only describe as positively Slytherin. "Then let's do it."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hey guys- I'm so busy this week it's ridiculous. I may/may not update next week depending on how things are going in my school life, so if I get behind, I'm sorry. This chapter is for all my reviewers, especially ClaireBouldwin and Sharon T- thanks for the words, every time._

_Enjoy and as always let me know what you think._

* * *

Chapter 9:

Harry swirled his chip in the gravy and tossed it into his mouth. He hated this program on the wireless, it was stupid and trite and not funny in the least. But Harry wasn't about to get up and tune the wireless to another station, and he couldn't be arsed to get up and fetch his wand from the side table either. He couldn't be arsed to do a lot of things lately- like shower, or brush his hair, or go to work. Luckily he had had three weeks of holiday time that he had hoarded away to take Draco, Andromeda, and Teddy away to New York for the school hols, but that wouldn't matter anymore.

At first Harry had hated Draco for that. Harry had caved after the first day of his ultimatum to Draco and he Floo'd Draco's house in Darby. Harry had fire called as soon as he had woken up in the morning, full of remorse and guilt for not trying to understand Draco's point-of-view in the matter. Harry had always stood up for the disenfranchised and the poor and yet the first time Draco did it Harry had the hypocrisy to demand that Draco turn over his dream job and let go of his beliefs just because some of them went against Harry's.

Harry fire called Draco's house at least fifteen times before tea and every time he got the stupid stock witch voice saying _this Floo user is either out or engaged, please try your toss at another time._ Harry tried to distract himself by reading a book- a thing he had tried to avoid doing even in the Auror Academy, and then had tried Floo-ing again, and it was _still_ bloody engaged. Either Draco was on the world's longest call to Cho or his aunt or he was out. Right before bed that night Harry tried one final call, before he decided that he would get the message once and for all- that Draco didn't want to be with him anymore.

The Floo was engaged.

Harry had never thought that Draco would be the one to pull out of the relationship first. Draco had always been the one to leave but always left himself rather accessible to Harry, by ringing Cho up at dispatch to bring him food at posh hotels or by Floo-ing Andromeda after a few days from Wales out of boredom. He had never actually ever turned down Harry's overture after a fight, ever. It made it all the more clear that things were really over between them, a thing that Harry wasn't at all prepared to deal with no matter how much he had blustered at Draco.

Harry bit down on another chip and listened to the canned laughter on the wireless. He didn't know what to do- part of him wanted to go to Darby and settle this one way or the other and then the other side of himself shouted out that there was no greater _settling_ than ignoring someone's Floos.

Harry's own Floo roared to life but he ignored the flutter of hope that rose in his chest- Harry had given up hope three days ago that Draco would come through Grimmauld Place and back into his life. Now the only visitors he had were the Weasleys and Harry wanted to knock the concerned looks off of their faces even though he felt a bit guilty for that knee-jerk reaction. He just wanted to be left alone, to morn his loss like anyone else who had lost something this precious to them. Harry's friends had never understood what it was like between him and Draco and honestly he had thought at times that they had done their best to make Draco feel as unwelcome as Fleur Weasley had felt in the beginning.

"Hey," Ron said, poking his ginger head through the space between the door and the doorway. "I brought some takeaway but I guess that means that there's more for me."

"Reckon so," Harry sighed, sitting up and plopping the cold container of chips off of his stomach and onto the floor. "How was work?"

"Miserable," Ron said, and Harry tried not to wince as Ron took the chair that Draco had been seated at the day they had ended their relationship. "The Minister had us in with the Hit Wizards for three hours in the morning to talk about effective capture measures whatever that's supposed to bloody mean and then Robards had us pair up with trainees and teach them grappling."

"I don't mind training with them," Harry said wistfully- the trainees were sometimes the best part of the job-they were still enthusiastic about it.

"Well," Ron said tiredly. "The one I got clean ripped my robe off me. Took Hermione two mending charms to fix the shoulder."

Ron gesture to a neat seam in the shoulder and Harry laughed. Then the laugh hurt.

That was what he had always wanted. Someone to mend his robes when he came home from work, but even Hermione didn't mend Ron's robes without a lot of ill humor. Draco would have _never_ mended his robes, in fact Harry would have had to deal with singed robes from Draco setting them on fire before Draco would have mended them by charming them permanently onto Harry's face. Harry smiled at the notion- Harry had his dreams and Draco had his own and they definitely clashed, a thing which had made their relationship interesting and then horribly difficult.

"Have you heard from Malfoy?" Ron asked, as though he could read Harry's mind, a matter that Harry thought was up for debate as they constantly managed to fish each other's thoughts out of their heads.

"No," Harry said shortly, reaching for his butterbeer- this was something he did _not_ want to elaborate on- especially to someone like Ron who was likely to go to Darby and punch in Draco's face for breaking it off with Harry.

Harry had already cried all his tears for their relationship and now he was stuck in this awful half-world where everything reminded him of Draco. The shoes on the stairs reminded him of the time Draco left shoes on the stairs and he had fallen and how they had laughed; the butterbeer and chips he was eating reminded Harry of the first time Harry had gone to Draco's local in Kent and how surprised he had been to see Draco eating chips and vinegar, and how nervous and excited he had been, overcome with his crush.

"Sorry," Ron said with a shrug. "You could try going to see him, mate- only, don't tell Hermione that I said that."

Harry laughed a little, miserably. He'd never actually heard Ron reference the fact that Hermione didn't much care for Draco, it was funny that now that their relationship was over everything like this was coming out of the woodwork when before was when they should have made a stand on the issue. So much for being Gryffindors.

"I could," Harry said, trying not to make it sound as though it was something he debated with himself every day. "But I tried calling Draco all day the first day and he ignored my Floos- his fire was engaged all day, Ron. I think that he really is over me."

"Or he could just have been really cross," Ron said with his bursts of insight that made him an excellent best mate. "Maybe he needed time to cool down and think about the situation. Or maybe his Floo was out of order, or he could have actually been out doing something, Harry. You can't assume unless you have a conversation with Malfoy and settle it once and for all. You'll only live with regret if you don't."

Harry shook his head slowly- he had thought that too, but there had been too many reasons behind his and Draco's breakup, including the fact that he didn't approve of Draco's job up in Darby and that Draco didn't particularly care for Harry's friends- something that was admittedly, a two-way street. While a lot of their problems could be solved by a shag or a deep conversation, Harry couldn't see those conversations being solved by anything but another argument. Harry had had so many chances to make it right- to ask Draco to bond with him or to move away before things had gotten bad, but he had always balked or put it off.

"Well," Ron sighed. "I don't know what to say, then. When Malfoy took care of you in hospital I thought you two could really make a go of it. I mean he's a right git, Harry, but he's a decent enough wizard these days- if you're into blokes I suppose you can do worse than Draco Malfoy. I thought I'd sever my own tongue out before I'd ever say that. But to each his own, at the end of the day you have to do what you feel is right."

Harry sighed- he'd waited a long time to hear Ron say that, but those words, like a lot of sentiment came too little too late.

Ron stood up and stretched his arms above his back, and they cracked a little. "Well," Ron declared, "I'm knackered. I have to be off- Hermione's going to be home soon and I promised her I'd be in before her. Come by for dinner, yeah? I'll tell Hermione that you are, and if you don't she'll be through here on the warpath."

"Alright," Harry sighed, rising to see Ron out of the room and down the stairs, taking the chip container and empty butterbeer bottles with him. "Have a goodnight."

"Night," Ron said, and leapt through the fire.

Harry walked though to the dining room and tossed the garbage into the bin. Even though he had tried to ignore the sentiment behind Ron's words, they had stayed with him.

Part of him had always wanted his friends' approval of his relationship and to know that all along Ron had liked Draco in a deeper way than he had thought really affected him. He had never known, or realized how stupid he had been. Draco had always rowed with him for relying on his mates and he had always laughed and tossed it aside, but Harry had been wrong. Everyone needed their friends, and perhaps Harry had never learned to compartmentalize quite as effectively as Draco. Harry had always wanted a family and approvals and maybe this was a way of finding it, and a way of losing out- it had certainly damaged his relationship with Draco.

Coming to a quick conclusion, Harry tossed some powder into the Floo and shouted out the address of the roundabout on which Draco lived. For a few moments the Floo fired to life a hopeful green and then-

_This Floo user is either out or engaged, please try your toss at another time._

Harry sat back down on his haunches and began to cry.

* * *

Hermione was making pasta in the kitchen. Ever since she had found out she was pregnant she had given up rather entirely on the health food kick she had put Ron on, although she had made sure that the pasta was whole wheat. Ron said he didn't care as long as there was sauce and bread-Ron had an unhealthy fear that Hermione would take away bread again, once she had tried that. Occasionally Ron would stage a protest about the raw foods or the sushi but whenever he did Hermione would force him to cook for himself- after two or three burnt roasts, poor Ron would fall back into line.

Harry listened to their squabbling with a small smile, dipping his bread into his sauce and then biting a piece off. If he kept a bland smile on his face and his mouth full of food he wouldn't have to actually engage in conversation, which was good, since his mind was still consumed by the breakup a week later. There was no reason for him to lie about it and say it wasn't- he was so full of regret about the whole thing that he still couldn't believe it was real.

Harry wanted to go over to Dismal Alley and find Draco and shake him and say _don't you love me?_ But it wasn't worth it. It wasn't. He just had to keep telling himself that, everyday, and it would work out.

"Beltane's coming up," Ron said, more to say something than because any of them were of the old faith. "Ministry will be holding the Beltane Ball, luckily I'm attending so I don't have to work security. Are you going this year, Harry?"

"No," Harry grunted, taking a sip of his water. Draco had picked out his dress robes for the event- a deep emerald green threaded with gold that the said brought out his eyes and skin color. Now they sat in the back of Harry's closet, still in their fancy garment bag, and it made Harry nauseous to see them every time he got dressed.

"Harry," Hermione said with concern. "Please, you're going to make yourself sick if you carry on like this. We're so worried about you- all of your friends are, Harry. Come out. You can make fun of everyone and get pissed and dance with me and Luna and even Ginny to stick Nott's nose out of joint. Only Harry- don't carry on this way. I don't even think Malfoy would have wanted this for you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Whatever Draco Malfoy is," Hermione said stiffly, "It was obvious that he held some affection for you. Things like that just don't fade away with one minute to another, and if it didn't work out between you, the least you can do is try and lead a good life and be happy- he wouldn't want you to be miserable, Harry. None of us would."

Harry sighed- another case of everyone coming to the foreground and saying everything at the last minute. But no matter how late it was, Hermione was right. Draco had always loved Harry, and no matter how unkind they were to each other whilst they were fighting, he had always wanted Harry to do well and had loved him and respected him as a person. All the wonderful things that Harry had wanted in a partner Draco had been and more. It was true that if Draco had ever seen Harry carrying on this way he would have hexed him silly for being such a child-but Draco had-_no_, they had both done this to each other and in the end the hurting had outweighed the love.

"I'll go," Harry sighed to Hermione's smile. "Bloody dressing up."

"I hear you, mate," Ron commiserated.

* * *

Harry's feet pinched. He had wanted to wear his old dress shoes but Hermione had seen them and had said that they weren't up to snuff because they had a scuff on the left shoe. Harry thought that was a ridiculous reason for protesting a pair of shoes, and besides, who was going to look at his feet- now he was stuck in these good-look dragon-hide pair that were well-enough in a shop window but pinched his little toes like mad. Hermione looked very pretty herself, though; she had on a baby blue robe with one bare arm and one bare shoulder, and her hair was braided and coiled up with a row of pearls in it. Ron had complained that it was a poor use for his grandmother Prewett's jewels, but only when Hermione wasn't in earshot. Then he only called her beautiful and all that nonsense that girls loved to hear.

Harry was just thankful that at this event the _war heroes_ as they were called weren't seated apart. Some hostesses liked to do that to give certain guests the opportunity to speak with one of them, but it had fallen out of favor after Ron had rather drunkenly complained about being separated from his fiancée at a dinner party. Hermione had been horrified but Harry thought it was the best thing that Ron had ever done except returning after storming off after the fight during their camping. At least now they could sit together and gossip without having to play nice so often to interlopers.

Across the ballroom Harry caught sight of someone. It was a bald man with plush red robes which matched rather awkwardly with his florid face. He stood next to a woman Harry could only assume was his wife- a horse-faced woman practically bedecked in jewels from the diamond tiara on the top of her ash-blond hair, to the large ruby on her ring finger. They were talking to a third person Harry could not see, and seemed rather amused.

"Who are they?" Harry asked Hermione, hoping to settle into some gossip.

"The Greengrasses," Hermione said, moving her lips carefully so that the husband could not see that they were being talked about. "Second wealthiest family in the wizarding world- Apollo Greengrass owns the Floo powder refinery- there's a saying that every time you toss off, you have to pay him a fee. The woman with him is his wife, Rodmilla, she's from a _very_ old Eastern European family, that gave him a bit of trouble during the war. The Greengrasses were neutral, but you know how that goes."

"Were they?" Harry asked.

"They say that Greengrass supplied Voldemort with untraceable Floos so that he could pass information along, but it could be rumors now. A man like Greengrass has a lot of enemies."

The wife moved aside at that moment and Harry saw that there were not one, but two people with them- and that one was Draco. Harry gripped his tablecloth tightly. Draco looked absolutely lovely in black dress robes with a grey collar, his hair swept back from his face into a bouffant. He looked older and more refined, as though he had found his niche, but of course he had. Draco had been born for these kinds of events- socializing with the wealthy, making meaningless small talk, laughing with people he had barely met, and sampling rare wines. Harry had always balked away from the society luncheons he had been invited to, but he should have gone more often- for Draco's sake at the very least.

There was a girl with him. She looked younger than Hermione, but she could have been a bit older, Harry couldn't guess her age outright. She was a pretty girl; her face was nothing remarkable, in fact if Harry was being cruel he would have called it plain or even boring, but it had some nice features. She carried herself well and she had a very nice figure which she put to good use in her clinging dress- it was slivery and beaded with little tassels that drew attention to the swinging of her chest and hips. She tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulders and took Draco's arm.

Harry decided he hated her.

"Who is the girl-the blonde?" Harry hissed.

"Astoria Greengrass," Hermione said, softly. "She's a pediatric Healer, she went to Hogwarts around the time Ron and I were there. She was a Slytherin, I don't know very much about her, Harry."

Astoria Greengrass touched Draco's shoulder and then they both laughed- Harry could tell it was Draco's real laugh because Draco's nose scrunched up a bit and he shook his head slightly as though he was shocked that he was amused.

Harry watched them all night. Draco noticed him halfway through dinner- Harry saw Draco's hand slip on his fork. But then that _cow_ put her hand on Draco's knee and smiled at him and he looked remarkably better. Harry scowled into his fish. Usually he liked fish too, but now he thought it was a bloody awful food and he'd never eat it again even if they paid him.

Draco and Astoria Greengrass only danced with each other. They didn't dance much- just the opening dance, the reel, which sent Draco's hair flying beautifully-Harry scowled again at that, and then finally the waltz. Draco really did dance skillfully, even with his arms about his Greengrass girl's waist, the two of them whispering together like they were as thick as two Hufflepuffs.

By the end of the night, Harry had come to a decision. The Greengrass party was leaving and everyone was getting their cloaks from check and Harry had to say something to Draco, once and for all, or he'd simply burst. A lot of his courage was simply Dutch; as he had drank more that night than he had in the three years that he had been with Draco. Anyway, Harry had to get it out, lay it all on the line, or make a bloody arse out of himself. At this moment it was a coin toss which he was more likely to do first.

The horse-faced Mrs. Greengrass and her husband walked out of the entrance hall and to what Harry presumed was a waiting carriage. Draco was placing an ermine stole on the Greengrass girl's shoulders. Harry tried to imagine Draco kissing those soft, thin shoulders or laughing into that tiny delicate ear- but he _couldn't_ Draco was his, and they belonged together. Draco no more belonged to a pretty, curvy girl than Harry belonged back with Ginny Weasley-Nott or like some scandal mongers like to cook up, Hermione.

"Gods, I'm dying for a fag," Draco yawned. "I can't wait to get home."

"Neither can I," the girl agreed- she had a deeper voice than Harry had expected, with a more serious tone. "Are we ready, Pushy?" "_Pushy_?" Harry said, causing both of them to jump. The Greengrass girl looked a bit frightened.

"I'd better go along." She said neutrally. "I'll see you later, Draco."

"Coward," Draco said to her retreating form. Then he turned and crossed his arms and looked at Harry. "I see, _now_ you want to come and talk to me, Potter."

"What," Harry spluttered. "What is that supposed to bloody mean, Draco?"

"You're pissed is what," Draco sighed, looking Harry up and down as though he found very little to be admire. "You waited all night to come and talk to me until you were drunk enough to come and hurl something at me that you made up- well, come on, tell me what it is, because it certainly can't be anything good if you've been fermenting like a brewery over it.."

"You _are_ seeing that girl," Harry hissed. "That's why you're jumping down my throat like this- to cover it all up!"

"I can't even imagine how that makes sense," Draco snorted. "And you really think that low of me that I could go from seeing you to seeing Tory Greengrass in less than a month- wait, why am I trying to justify myself to you? Who I see doesn't matter to you anymore, Harry Potter- you stay out of my life, and I'll stay out of yours!"


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hey everyone- I know this chapter is late, I'm surprised I got it out at all, actually, considering how busy/sick I am with this cold. Anyway, I know how you all have been saying how this relationship is very dysfunctional. It's about to get a whole lot less dysfunctional.__  
_

_Enjoy and let me know what you think.  
_

* * *

Chapter 10:

"I'm an idiot," Draco declared dryly to the room.

It was three in the morning and they had just gotten back from the Ministry's event. Draco was too drunk and too tired now to think about the final few moments of a party which had been filled with people whose vaults had been transfigured from _back of the line_ to _prime_ by the war. Perhaps next year Draco wouldn't even _be_ invited. Draco smothered a grin, imagining _that_. All the respectability that he had worked his arse off for would be undone because of - because of - Draco wanted to blame Harry. And today he was drunk enough, and still angry enough about their relationship to do it.

"I'm sorry," Astoria, sighed, rubbing her sore feet. She looked beautiful in her smudged makeup, though Draco would never tell her so. Tory had one of those faces that looked better the less care had been put into it. "I should have stayed with you."

Draco wanted to tell her that if had she stayed he would have been cross, and if she left he would have been hurt that she had deserted him. But Astoria wouldn't have understood that about him. Tory was friend, not his lover. For a moment Harry's face swam in front of his mind's eye and Draco felt ill.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco sighed, throwing off his cloak and letting it land onto the back of the sofa. "Slytherins never apologize for things that aren't their fault- unless you knew Harry was going to be there and you two were in collusion."

Neither of them had thought in a million years was that Harry would be at the Beltane Ball. Draco had counted on the fact Harry had never gone out in society, a thing that slightly annoyed Draco who had disliked the press but didn't mind going out and meeting with people now and again who weren't the Weasleys. It was rather difficult being in the position of someone who was constantly photographed but went nowhere and saw no one, it was sort of like being in a bubble, where people's imaginings where far more interesting than the truth. Sometimes Draco had been rather lonely.

Astoria smirked and shook her head. "If only I could that devious- it would pay you back for mangling my book in the bath. Seven drying charms and the thing still looks like something a cat regurgitates. But Pushy, honestly, I am sorry- was he very horrible to you?"

"Not as horrible as you are when you call me _Pushy,_" Draco sighed, dropping his head into Astoria's lap. "Honestly, I thought it would be worse seeing him again, but it was just the same as always. I reckon it was the old wand for him, too- he accused me of sleeping with you."

Astoria laughed, delighted. "Oh, if I was thirteen again, I'd be over the moon with hope, and at least eighty schemes! But seriously, you and _I_? He must be a little bit mad- who goes from the hero of the world to a girl who's daily highlight is clearing up vomit on the critical ward?"

Draco shook his head. "Don't sell yourself short- you're marvelous, and you only smell of sick twice a week, truly-" Draco dodged Astoria's hex. "But it was really very hard, Tory-very hard."

"I'm so sorry for that, then," Astoria sighed, stroking Draco's brown hair. "He obviously cares a lot about you Draco. Isn't there some way of working it all out? Can't you explain to him that I'm just an old childhood chum and we went out for a laugh-"

Draco laughed snidely. "That's just the thing with Harry, he can hang about with Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger and it's perfectly fine, in fact, I have to grin and bear it. But if I meet up again with you and we become friends again, well his little green-eyed chest monster goes practically berserk with envy. Oh, and Tory- I was a perfect fright as well, you know your mother kept passing me along those _Autumn Sunsets_ and I think they had more firewhiskey than mango juice- I think I told him to stay away from me for good."

"Oh, _Pushy_," Astoria gasped, as though she was trying to hold down a laugh at the same time. "You never told Harry Potter to polish his own wand- I wish I had stayed in the room! I'm such an idiot!"

"I think we both are," Draco said sadly, and Astoria went back to stroking his head, the two of them silent on the topic for the moment.

* * *

"I'm exhausted," Astoria said, covering her eyes with her hands. "Can you pass me the _Ministry Passbook on Child Ethic's Laws_ again, Draco?"

Draco tossed Astoria the book with more force than what was necessary. For the last three weekends Astoria's sitting room had become ground zero for their study- they were calling it _A Survey into the Abuses of Child Rights in the North_ in every draft and write-up that they scribbled out, but it was very much a working title- Draco rather liked it, but Astoria thought that the Ministry wouldn't give approval to a study that, in the first sentence called their laws abusive.

Draco very much worried that they would get to the approval state- Draco was still Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, disgraced right hand man of the Dark Lord who committed suicide and Narcissa Malfoy, currently living with her Duc in luxury in Paris, someone who had escaped the arm of the law, despite whatever good she had done the country by sparing Harry. As for Astoria, her connections were little better- everyone who was anyone knew that Apollo Greengrass had funded the Death Eaters with wands and Floo powder during the war, and that he had only escaped persecution because he had been clever enough to wire everything through Swiss banks that were as impenetrable as Hogwarts had once had thought to have been.

A more unlikely pair of political reformers never existed.

"It's too much," Astoria yawned, leafing through some paperwork that Draco hadn't even seen yet. "I don't want to even look at the board."

Draco had created the board about a fortnight back in one of his teacher-ly bursts of mania about the project. Every time they had an inspiration or an idea about something that was necessary for the study to be continued it would be put on the board. There were obvious items on there like _Ministry approval _and _funding_ but as time went on more and more items had been added like _consult St. Dymphna's for records of infant births and deaths for past ten years _and _compare enrollment and retention of schooling for Darby and London. _Soon Draco thought they were going to have to go out and purchase another bloody board.

"I'll be able to put in more time in the summer," Draco tried to say reassuringly, but even working on the study full-time without Astoria's help on board as a full member of the project, he was rather afraid they were going to be stalled.

"No you shouldn't have to go this alone," Astoria sighed, getting up and fetching them tea- like every Englishwoman ever born Astoria thought that tea helped to soothe all wounds. "And I just noticed we should compare St. Mungo's and St. Dymphna's, Pushy- that's not even on the board. Bloody hell."

Draco added it with a weary flick of his wand- they we getting dangerously close to the bottom of the board. "Well," Draco said, taking his cup of tea from Astoria with thanks, "What do you propose that we do? Delay everything?"

Astoria shook her head adamantly. "If we delay the Ministry session will go into recess and we'll have to wait another year to get a decision on our funding. I think we need to get someone else to come on board, Draco. Someone who can put in the busy work, like the write ups while we canvass the hospital and the school."

Draco nodded- it was a good idea in theory. But he was also worried that whoever they would bring in wouldn't have the best intentions- towards them or towards the people of Dismal Alley. For their own part it would be absolutely easy for a wizard or witch with a blemish-less background to come in and work on the study and file it behind Draco and Astoria's backs and take the credit for their ideas- who would ever believe that two Slytherins conceived of this project on their own? As for the people of Dismal Alley, well, if they brought in another Slytherin, Draco's worry was that they wouldn't be sensitive to the political issues at play here and would only be after whatever paltry fame they could garner from the study.

"It has to be the right person," Draco said firmly. "Someone we both know and yet someone we both agree on- who wouldn't try to manipulate this for their own aims."

"It's a short list," Astoria said, passing Draco a cigarette- a habit they had developed when thinking over plots and holes in their theories. "But I think I know someone from Hogwarts- he was in your year- and he wasn't a Slytherin."

"Is he going to be self-interested?" Draco asked, wondering about this mystery person. There weren't many people from his year that he remembered well beyond the Slytherins- in fact beyond Harry Potter's set and his own he didn't really remember anyone, Harry's friends because he loved to tease and taunt them and his own friends for obvious reasons.

"A little," Astoria said, blowing out smoke. "But he'll be a good fit, I think. Why don't I write him and see if he can meet up with us in London some time this week?"

"Alright," Draco sighed- the sooner the better, he supposed.

Draco sat down with Astoria at the tea shop across from the Ministry. It was hard to come here and see the booth that another Draco, Susan and Algernon had often sat at when Draco and Susan had been swotting for their NEWTs what felt like a lifetime ago. Algernon's death still felt like a sticky thing- Al Bones had come into Draco's life like a dream and had promised him everything and Draco had fallen but never surrendered himself, not like he had with Harry, where the love had consumed him so quickly and fully that he had lost Algernon to it.

"Here, he is," Astoria smiled, pulling Draco away from his bittersweet thoughts. There in the doorway was Zacharias Smith.

Smith looked like he always had- his golden blond hair brushed back from his faintly handsome face- like Astoria he was a bit too horsey to be considered good looking, but unlike Astoria, Draco didn't think that Smith was someone who improved with acquaintance. Tory Greengrass was lovely, loyal and an intellectual, while Smith was a tosspot who had joined Harry's Dumbledore's Army but when push came to shove he hadn't had the mettle to go off and fight one way or the other. Draco didn't have much stomach for people like that- Draco _had_ chose the wrong side, but at least he had done something, which was more than Smith who had played the doubting Quintus _and _a double-crosser.

"Malfoy," Smith said evenly, without even a hello for Astoria- Astoria's face fell a bit, but only someone who knew her very well would have noticed that and her swift recovery- so it was like _that_ then. No wonder Astoria wanted Smith around.

"Smith," Draco mock-yawned, he would play nice for Tory's sake, but that didn't mean that he would play fair, especially with a bloke that his friend fancied. "Apparently you can't be on time. Like to a battle."

Smith winced. _Score one,_ Draco thought idly. "I was hoping we could leave that in the past," Smith said stiffly. "Especially since you and Potter are through."

_One-One,_ Draco conceded. "Fair enough. Well, Astoria tells me that you are something of an intellectual. Astound me."

"I'm a lobbyist," Smith admitted, his voice low as though it was some sort of secret. Draco knew all about the _favors_ system in the Ministry and the men who greased each other's pouches by playing in politics. "Which is why I'm particularly interested in your project. I'm studying to become a History Professor through Hogwarts but I must confess my real aim is to work myself up through the Wizengamot and then hold office."

"And become Minister," Draco deduced, looking at Smith shrewdly.

"Oh no," Smith laughed. "I'm no Slytherin- that's really the extent of it everything- I want to be known as the man behind it all. The figurehead always knocked down in the end, doesn't he?"

Draco thought of Harry's reputation and nodded curtly. "You may have a point there, Smith, but this study has no mention of political ideology or any specific persons. I don't think that's what we're about."

"We're not," Astoria said firmly, despite her shining eyes toward Smith. "It's about helping people, Zach. You _do_ understand that?"

"Of course," Smith said evenly. "And we all have our different reasons for joining up- I think that what's going on is fundamentally wrong, and I will of course not write anything that the three of you don't agree with"

"Another revolution isn't the answer," Draco looked down at his tea. "The wizarding world could not stand another war so soon after the last- we'd be prey for the Muggles. And we don't need another puppet leader, either."

"Then I'll settle for reform," Smith smiled. "For now, anyway. Do we have a deal?"

"Very well," Draco sniffed. He'd have to deal with the idiot, or lose Tory. Had his father ever had these sort of problems? "Welcome to the fold. I hope you enjoy your stay."

* * *

"I don't like that sentence," Astoria said, snatching the slip of parchment from Smith's hands. It was amusing sometimes to watch her forget that she fancied Smith at times and actually debate and disagree with him instead of looking to the side when he went on and on pompously about some Muggle communist who had reformed this or that whilst we still lived in the stone ages.

"Pushy," Astoria said, brandishing the paper in question in Draco's face. "Listen to this sentence- _It is obvious that the socio-political ramifications of ignoring the effects of the strike on the 8th December were not fully understood by the Ministry._ What do you think of that?"

"That if Smith leaves it in we'll never see a sickle of Ministry funding, let alone approval," Draco said, returning to his abacus- he had been assigned the laborious task of calculating the preliminary statistics for the birth and death rates of St. Dymphna's versus St. Mungo's. If they ever got funding and approval for a full out study they were hoping to include the data from the school systems as well as case studies from several families in the area, but only if they got approval- which right now was a very big _if._

"Bloody hell, I'll change it," Smith growled, setting down his tea and taking his wand- he ended up grabbing Draco's wand instead which sent up a bunch of angry red sparks in the air when Smith tried his correction spell. Draco laughed and even Astoria hid her snicker. Smith scowled and tossed the wand back on the table and went to the kitchen to fetch his own.

"I don't think we're even going to get approval," Smith said with more ill humor than most Slytherins after a trip to the Gryffindor common room. "It's hopeless to imagine that a half-blood whose mother is a communist, and two Slytherins with poor war records are going to be able to push through one of the largest reform measures in the history of the wizarding world."

"Don't be silly, Zach," Astoria said warmly. "If Draco can shag Harry Potter, I bet we can get this done. Don't you think so, Pushy?"

Draco glared at Astoria and she mouthed _I'm sorry._ It was still _way_ too soon for a joke.

"I don't know," Draco said slowly returning to the matter at hand. "I believe we can get the funding- I have some money set aside and Tory's family is very well connected. It's the Ministry. I don't know if we can get our ideas through the Ministry- it's not that they are anything so revolutionary, it's that as soon as someone sees our three names on it they're going to toss it in the bin."

Astoria nodded. "What we need is a man on the inside," she said fancifully, "Like those programs on the wireless, you know like when the robber goes to hold up Gringotts- he always has a wizard on the inside."

"Except we don't know anyone on the inside," Smith said, sitting down next to Astoria and passing around his pack of cigarettes. "The only people I know are people I've managed to annoy with my lobbying and I'll be the first to admit that. What about you, Tory? Your dad's quite well off- doesn't he know anyone?"

Astoria shook her head. "Dad is more of a businessman, not an intellectual. He knows a lot of men in the Trading Commission, things like that. Not intellectual reformers."

"I know someone," Draco groaned. "Gods, I know someone- she's an absolute bloody beast, but she'll help us. Ugh, Smith you know her too."

"Who?" Smith asked. "One of our old professors?"

"No," Draco said, exhaling and reaching for a new cigarette which Smith gladly supplied. "Never so desperate, but nearly. Granger- Hermione Granger."

Smith's nose wrinkled as though he had smelled Allison's cat box. "Are you quite sure we're as bad off as all that? I mean we could scrap the study-"

"Is she really such a dragon?" Astoria laughed, leaning on Draco's shoulder whilst looking as though she wanted to be leaning on Smith's. "Why don't we try her? This is all of our dreams-Pushy? Zach? If she's our best bet?"

"Fine," Draco said shortly. "We'll see Granger."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N- Hey everyone! Hope your break/summer/summer school/job/criminal activity is going well. Lol-Just playing! Anyway, I had been meaning to post this chapter for the last couple of days, but a million things have been coming up, one right after the other. I hope you enjoy, and as one reviewer said, the plot has thickened. Sounds like odd when I say it, but you know what I mean.__  
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_Enjoying the story?  
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___Let me know what you think._

* * *

Chapter 11:

Seeing Draco at that ball had been hard. But it had given Harry closure of a sort. Draco didn't want to be with him again, clearly. This time it was over, and Draco had moved on. He had found his way back to his friends and to his own kind- the Greengrasses were more Draco's people than Harry Potter and the Weasleys who were a common, despite their fame. Harry had always loved that about Draco, that uniqueness- Draco had seemed a gift from the benevolent gods, a treasure because Harry had defeated Tom Riddle. But perhaps Harry had not learned how to treasure his gifts and so the gods has taken away his gift in a fit of pique.

But the love didn't fade away- not like that, not in an instant. Sometimes Harry would wake up at night and look at the moon. It was the same moon that Draco was seeing over Darby, the same moon over his small house. Was he happy with the Greengrass girl? Astoria- her name was Astoria. Harry didn't think that she was much, a plain girl with a wealthy father, a plain girl with a pretty voice and a nice body and a good career. A normal witch who could give Draco normal children that they could raise in his normal home. Harry had always wanted that life with Draco and now it was so ironic that Draco was going to carve it out with a woman with soft curving hips and a sweet laugh that called him _Pushy_.

Harry wished that he could remove time and take back what he had done, and understand what he hadn't- explain himself better, love Draco more. It wouldn't matter, would it? It was a relationship that had begun from an affair and it was destined to end badly. They had always been on borrowed time, and they had always had the ghost of poor Algernon Bones in the room between them.

It was sad, so sad.

But predictable. Harry was just like that quote Draco had read him once - the one about each man killing off the thing he loved.

Harry sat down on the bed and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he was going to go out and face the day, and do _something._ He had had off for the last two weeks and it was going to end now. Perhaps tomorrow he'd take Teddy to London to the shops, and get some fresh air. Living in his memories was going to kill him, too.

* * *

Harry Apparated to the sweet lane that led to Andromeda's cottage in Kent. The smells of country summer were everywhere in the air- fresh severed grass in the lane, wild flowers that were blooming along the hedges, and farther in the distance a fat black and white kneazle rested lazily underneath a large tree. Harry had always envied Andromeda and Teddy their beautiful home, and even Draco this fantasy of perfection. Draco had found the ideal place to recuperate from the war whilst Harry had gone around the globe chasing after a fantasy when he could have had it at home..

"Harry!" Teddy screamed, his hair it's happy color of teal. Teddy was growing so quickly that Harry was sure that he was going to be as tall as Draco or even taller- perhaps the original Ted had been tall, because Remus hadn't been imposing. Harry almost made a mental note to ask Draco if the Blacks had been tall and then he sighed inside- he wouldn't be able to ask Draco things like that ever again.

"Hello, loud mouth," Harry said, ruffling Teddy's hair to watch it turn from teal to white to red. "What are you doing all alone in the lane?"

"Climbing trees," Teddy grinned like a conspirator to a crime. "Grandmother said I could go out and see the robin's nest on the tree at Mrs. Mortimer's house but I didn't see much so I went down the lane and I climbed the trees by the Castlebray's and you can see into their loo- too bad no one was in there, huh?"

"_Teddy_," Harry scolded, but he was laughing- Teddy had certainly gotten the Marauder genetics in spades. "You shouldn't spy on people while they're on the loo."

"Oh, I know I shouldn't," Teddy said merrily- Teddy was so good natured that he made one feel bad about chastising him. "It was just funny, Harry- please don't tell Grandmother. And anyway Draco said it wouldn't count unless I got caught throwing dung bombs into their window while they were trying to go."

Harry snorted and shook his head. Draco Malfoy _would_ give a child advice like that; Harry worried about his students.

Teddy bit his lip and looked down, as though he could imagine where Harry's thoughts lay. They reached the door of the cottage in silence, Teddy's boisterous nature silenced by the return of the implications of Harry and Draco's breakup. Harry wondered if Andromeda or Draco had been the one to tell Teddy about the spilt- Harry had been so cut up in the beginning he hadn't even gotten out of bed, let alone Floo'ed his godson to have a talk about the fact that he had broken it off with his godson's own cousin. But of course he should have- for Teddy it must have been a monumental shock as well. For three years Draco and Harry had been a couple and had taken Teddy everywhere together.

Harry felt very wrong about not having done this.

In the cosy sitting room Andromeda greeted him with a mild expression. As usual she was dressed neatly in good house robes and Wellington boots, her caramel colored hair piled high on her head and pinned neatly with a jeweled bauble. Even though she had once been one of the famed Black sisters Andromeda fit in neatly now as a well-off country window with a grandson.

But just like a Black she knew how to stop all the clocks in a room.

Harry had known very well that Andromeda had disapproved of his relationship with Draco. Nothing had ever been said, but it didn't need to be, with every look and gesture Andromeda had made it clear that she thought Harry was flaky, irresponsible and unsure of himself- in short, unworthy of her nephew.

It was extremely hard to stand in front of Andromeda now, after everything and act as though it was fine, especially when Harry knew that Andromeda was probably rejoicing a little in the fact that Harry was no longer attached to Draco. But Harry was still Teddy's godfather. It was a bloody mess.

"Harry," Andromeda said more warmly than she had in all the time Draco had dated him- clearly she had thought her opinion of Harry had been vindicated in some way since the relationship was over. "How is work?"

"Good," Harry said briefly. The conversation was literally painful- Harry had the sudden insight that that was how Draco must had felt talking to the Weasleys and he felt an extreme amount of horror and sympathy- if only he had known then what he knew now. "I heard you are having a garden party?"

"Yes," Andromeda said, motioning toward the kitchen. "There is a prize for the best Flush Bloom and I am determined to win it. Would you like tea?"

"Please," Harry said, and then he asked. "Have you talked to Teddy about the situation between Draco and I- I mean to say, that it has changed?"

"Oh no," Andromeda said, though her eyes twinkled a little at the mention of the relationship _changing_. "Not I. Draco came and spoke to Teddy a week ago? Maybe more? I'm not sure, in any case, I'm sure Teddy would like to hear your version of events as well. He really was very upset to hear that you and Draco had ended your little liaison as it was- he stormed out of the room, it was extremely upsetting to Draco."

"I'll talk to him today, I was thinking of taking him to Fortescue's if you didn't mind," Harry mused, even as he gritted his teeth against Andromeda's insinuation that a three year long relationship was a _liaison._

"Very well," Andromeda said evenly. "You can go up and tell Teddy the good news- oh and Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said, pausing at the space that denoted the separation of the kitchen and the sitting room.

"Draco is very happy now," Andromeda said evenly. "If you care anything about him, you'll let this matter remain closed. For his sake and for Teddy's."

Harry bit on his tongue so hard he was sure he was a second away from bleeding.

* * *

Teddy swung his feet merrily from his high stool. Unlike everyone else around them, Teddy was paying no attention to the paparazzi outside the ice cream shop who had been outside since Harry and Teddy had arrived, nor had he even noticed the people staring inside. The war had given Harry keen senses and Auror training had refined them so Harry could tell that the witch in the right booth was watching hoping to get a autograph before Harry left, and that the man with her had rolled his eyes at Harry twice _Madness._

Harry had wanted Draco to embrace this life, but who could? No one- especially not Draco Malfoy 'conflicted former Dark Wizard turned teacher'. Draco had wanted to be normal, and Harry had wanted to be normal, but normalcy for Draco would only come at the price of his relationship with Harry. Harry sighed and poked at a worm in his sundae- it burrowed deeper into the chocolate crunchies.

"You don't like the worms, Harry?" Teddy asked, peering at Harry with violet eyes. "Or are you thinking about my cousin?"

"Er," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck- he didn't know if it was Teddy, or all children, but Teddy had the disturbing quality of knowing the one thing Harry always did _not_ want him to know.

"Draco said he still liked you," Teddy said, and Harry's heart beat triple time with hope. "Even though he said you didn't want to be together anymore. Why don't you want to be with cousin Draco, Harry? Have you two fought about something stupid- you ought to say sorry and patch it up."

"I ought to have," Harry said morosely and then shut his mouth- he realized he was having his eight year old godson play agony aunt to his and Draco's dead relationship. Harry had just reached an all time low.

Teddy nodded and put his little head on his bent hand- Harry had such a glimpse of his father that it was like taking a Time Turner into the past. Really when _did_ Teddy become the adult in all of this?

"I think you're going to get back together," Teddy pronounced, taking Harry's fork and spearing one of Harry's lime green worms before it could burrow into the ice cream and away from view. "In the soaps Grandmother watches the couples always get back together in the end."

"Right," Harry said, forcing out a smile. He couldn't bare to tell Teddy that the wireless programming and real life were unfortunately miles apart.

* * *

"Harry," Hermione called, waving to Harry over the din of the canteen. Normally Harry didn't eat with everyone at the canteen- it felt like being at school and eating at the Great Hall, and waiting for Malfoy to stare daggers at him across the table.

Only the trouble now was that people weren't staring at Harry because of something Draco had said or a rumor he had spread, but _because_ of Draco himself. A photograph in the society column had leaked from the Beltane Ball. The photo showed Draco dancing the reel with that Greengrass bint- the two of them spinning and then laughing close, two blond heads pressed close with flushed faces. Even a two year old knew that a photograph like that didn't need any caption- in fact it said more than a thousand words on it's own.

"Hey," Harry said, catching up to Hermione. He felt badly for making Hermione walk this far towards him-Hermione was in her fourth month of pregnancy and although Harry couldn't see much of his future goddaughter yet (although in robes one couldn't see much of anything) he knew he should be a bit more mindful.

"Do you mind taking a walk with me?" Hermione said. "I need some fresh air after being indoors all day, and I thought we might cut through the park, it really is such a lovely day."

"Do you think-"Harry bit down on his bottom lip. He was about to say _do you think you should be walking about in your condition_ when he realized that Hermione would definitely take that as an affront. Harry just smiled instead and nodded.

"Good job holding your tongue," Hermione nodded approvingly. "Think that you can teach Ron that trick?"

Harry laughed and shook his head- there had been so many times that Ron's impulsive nature had nearly cause him to say the wrong thing to Robards or one of the fellow Aurors that Harry had often kept his wand out for the express purpose of poking Ron in the side. But then again Harry's own issues with being hot-headed were well documented-Harry tried _not_ to focus on the failure of his relationship with Draco for one bloody afternoon and tried to enjoy his best mate's company.

The park was quiet and deserted and with their robes shrunken into their pockets Harry and Hermione moved around as any other Muggle London couple in business casual attire. After a few moments Hermione motioned to a vacant bench and Harry sat down. Harry half-expected that Hermione would offer up some nugget of information right away- perhaps she wanted to talk about the wedding or to go over baby names with Harry, or even to just gossip about old classmates. But it was beginning to feel increasingly odd, sitting on a stiff wooden Muggle park bench without Ron's company- almost as though he knew already and it was up to Hermione to break whatever news.

"I think you better tell me what's gone wrong," Harry said dismally. He had no idea why he was taking such a defeatist attitude toward the whole enterprise of being told this news by Hermione, but he was having honestly a horrible few months of it. Losing out on the love of his life, his best friends getting married and having a baby and his being all alone- it all just seemed to remind Harry that his life went nowhere. Harry kicked at a pebble with his shoe.

"Nothing's gone wrong." Hermione said, looking at Harry with concern. "Are you all right, Harry? Honestly-" "I'm fine," Harry said, lifting his shoulders. There was no reason to get into the topic again- everyone seemed to be over it- including the other party of the relationship. Harry was the only one still hanging on and moaning.

"We don't have to talk today," Hermione said, coming to some sort of decision about her news. "I'll tell you some other time, when you're not so stressed."

"No," Harry protested- that's what he didn't want either, to be treated like an emotional invalid by his two best friends. Harry _knew_ he had to get on with it all- it was the getting on with it that was proving so bloody difficult. If only he had- Harry cut off that thought again and turned to Hermione. "It's fine, Hermione, I'd like to know whatever you want to tell me; you're my best mate."

"Second only to my fiancé," Hermione sniffed but followed it with smile. "Guess who Floo'd me up this past weekend?"

"The Minister of Magic to offer you another Order of Merlin," Harry joked- both Hermione and Ron had the Order of Merlin, Second Class. Harry rather thought they deserved the First Class one, but that had been reserved for Harry, Snape, and Dumbledore.

"Don't be absurd," Hermione laughed. "What would I do with two gaudy gold medals- my poor Mum barely understands what the first one is for. Zacharias Smith fire-called me, can you believe it? Smith from the DA, the one who didn't believe that Tom Riddle had come back- gods how I wanted to throw that in his face!"

"You should have," Harry scowled darkly. Smith had turned his cloak so many times during the war Harry was amazed he could recognize which side was the right side out anymore. Nowadays he was one of those arrogant lobbyists that hung around the Ministry- the new breed of petitioning wizards who secured money from wealthy investors and argued for their causes during the days the Wizengamot had open court. Harry had no idea if Smith was honest or not, but knowing him, it was at least a fool's errand.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure you're going to like what I have to say, Harry."

"Why?" Harry said, looking into Hermione's soft brown eyes- he didn't know any witch as well as he did Hermione, and everything about her right now was screaming that she was hiding something rather important. "I think you had better tell me, then."

"Smith asked me to join him on a study," Hermione said and then took an audible breath. "But it wasn't his idea- the idea was Malfoy's."

"_What!"_ Harry hissed, forcing his yell down to a yelp as some joggers came running past. Harry wasn't sure if the study was Draco's idea or if it was Draco's idea to ask Hermione to come on board, but it all made Harry highly uncomfortable. The wizarding world was practically incestuous as it was because it was so small- why did his ex-boyfriend, an ex-classmate _and_ his best mate have to collaborate together? It felt as though they were colluding behind Harry's back-

"Harry, please," Hermione said seriously. "We have to be adults about this. What happened between you and Malfoy was obviously very upsetting to the both of you and to Ron and I-"

"_Ron and I?_" Harry scoffed. "Leave off the _I _bit Hermione and you know you're half-way there- you always blamed Draco for what happened to Algernon Bones and that whole bloody debacle- as if Draco didn't blame himself enough for it!"

Hermione flushed, but Harry didn't feel in the least bit sorry. In fact he felt rather _relieved_-he had carried about that burden of resentment toward Hermione for ages and he had let it fester inside of him instead of speaking out when he'd had the chance and when it could have made a difference in his relationship.

"It's true I never gave Malfoy a chance," Hermione admitted softly and Harry sighed, and took her hand. "I'm even sorrier now when I've gotten to see what sort of person he is, and the good he's capable of. I only want to help him, Harry-would it be so wrong if we were to work together?"

"I suppose not," Harry forced on a smile. It was brittle, but Hermione was forcing herself not to see.

_Again._


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Hello everyone: wow you guys have a lot of opinions about the story thus far. I love it! I think it's really complex situation, isn't it? . I feel like both Harry and Draco are both wrong. It's easier to feel for Harry as of last chapter, sure. That doesn't excuse what he did before though, because when they were together, Harry would take cheap shots and put his friends first. On the other hand, Draco is pretty much a coward and is running from his emotions and his pain at this point. __  
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_I know some of you think Harry is being weak, but he really is upset. He had a lot of dreams for this relationship that Draco didn't share. Or that he thinks Draco didn't share. Draco is in deep denial about what he wants. __  
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_Someone has to give. Either Harry has to man up again and confront Draco, or Draco has to face his fears of giving himself wholly to someone.  
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_They are very stubborn. It's classic, isn't it? It's happened to me.__  
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_Let me know if you can relate, if you disagree, or if you're enjoying it thus far-_

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Chapter 12:

"So," Astoria said, handing Draco a mug of tea. "Hermione Granger said that she would be coming down with Zach on the Express from King's Cross- Zach's going to spend the afternoon lobbying and the morning editing the final chapters we put in so that our new Miss Granger can have something to look at."

"She'll want to change everything," Draco said, looking over the night sky from his back garden. "She likes to assert herself- she'll make Smith sick trying to debate her on every issue."

"He likes that," Astoria smiled, probably thinking of Smith in a fond way that Draco didn't even want to _know_ about. He grimaced and took a sip of his tea. "Draco, do you even sleep- you spent all evening here with me and the calculations and I know you have to be up early to teach. So when, exactly, do you get time to grade?"

"Don't pester me, Tory," Draco sighed, flopping into one of the dining room chairs. "I get my grading done during tea time- it's fairly easy, I have answer sheets for nearly everything now."

"Oh, _nearly,_" Astoria sniffed, tilting Draco's head up toward the light. "You haven't been sleeping well. I can tell, you look like some of the factory men who come in and take double shifts. Pushy, is it Potter?"

"I don't know what you're on about," Draco said, crossing his arms.

"Don't be such a stupid child," Astoria said, rubbing his head as it pressed into her lower stomach. "You know what you feel for the wizard. But is it entirely necessary that you make yourself sick about the whole situation?"

"I _am_ trying," Draco said wearily. "It isn't the easiest thing in the world, loving someone that you can't be with anymore."

"I _do_ know something about unrequited love," Astoria said with a wry smile and a shrug. "But I don't know a thing about Harry Potter- thank the gods, men with spectacles were never were my thing, but maybe one day you'll be over this moping stage and you can explain the kink to me in it's full, glorious, and lurid detail."

"_Tory_," Draco said, as though he was scandalized. "It was never about the spectacles- it was about the eyes under the spectacles. And the muscles- Harry Potter is extremely fit, if you haven't noticed, since once again you reek of sick. And _that_ is why you are single, my dear witch-"

"Pushy Malfoy," Astoria laughed, shoving Draco up the stairs. "You're a fat arse and a liar, and I want you to go to bed- I'll deal with the clean up down here for tonight. Try for once to look like you haven't come out of hospital the day before, yeah?"

Draco stuck out his tongue and went up the stairs.

But by the time Draco got to the top most stair of his good humor had faded out of him. Astoria had been right to deduce that he was overworking himself to try to not deal with the fact that he missed Harry. Desperately. The first week without Harry had been liberating, and with Astoria's company Draco had felt as though he had gotten back all the freedoms that he had tried to explain to Harry that he had been missing. But then Draco felt as though he had trapped himself in a dream that was rapidly becoming a nightmare- Draco had wished Harry gone- and so now Harry would never be coming back, never, never, _never_.

Draco hadn't realized how deeply enmeshed his sense of self was with Harry's until Harry had been gone. Sometimes he would turn on the wireless to shows he hated because he knew Harry loved them and would be listening, and later they could discuss the highlights- but they couldn't anymore. At night he would roll over and face the wall expecting to be spooned from the other side, but there was no strong arm around his waist, and no hot, snuffling breath in his ear. No _good night, darling. _

Draco missed the sex, vaguely- but not very much, truth be told. He had thought that that was all that had been holding he and Harry together, but now that it was gone, all he missed was _Harry._ He missed the way Harry's eyes would light up like a child's before Yule whenever Teddy said or did something clever, or the way Harry always looked at Draco with such pride as though being a school teacher was the most unique and awe inspiring decision that Draco had ever made. Harry made Draco feel wanted, loved, and cherished- and Draco hadn't known all that until there wasn't anybody to tell it to anymore. They had both used and abused everything good that they had felt for each other that it had caused Draco to doubt his own feelings, and along the way to doubt himself.

Nights like this, when Draco was all alone in a cold bed with his best mate tinkering downstairs and a cat for company was when Draco wondered if Harry had reached some similar revelations about their relationships. Or did he hate Draco and never want to see him again? Draco had no idea, and he thought he never would- but that was the chance one took with breakups, you just had to keep living.

* * *

Granger came the next evening with Smith. Both of them looked exhausted, Draco wondered if that was from the train ride, or from bumping ideologies all the way from London to Darby without a buffer. Astoria looked at Granger curiously- Draco recalled that they hadn't met, only seen each other at a distance from a ball room. They made a funny contrast; though Granger had the potential to be the lovelier girl, she paid no attention to her looks, with her badly cut off the peg robes and clunky shoes, never mind her hair. Astoria on the other hand had been raised in a culture than emphasized that appearances were everything-and it showed, her hair fell in long waves to the middle of her back and her plain features were enhanced with careful makeup.

Granger, for all her intellect, looked a little intimidated.

"I do hope that Zach hasn't given you a bad time," Astoria said beaming at Smith; Draco knew that Tory would love a _bad time _from that git Smith who couldn't notice a good witch like Tory if she stood in front of him with a giant arrow.

"No," Granger smiled uncomfortably while Draco lit another cigarette from where he was lounging on Astoria's sofa and sighed. This was a bad beginning. They had chosen Astoria's home because it was meant to be a neutral territory, but it would have probably been more ideal to choose Draco's as it would have forced Granger to be contrary.

"We enjoyed matching wits," Granger continued and Smith snorted in opposition. Things were going from bad to worse. Astoria turned to Draco and glared at him as though to say _do something before she leaves._

"How is your wedding planning going Granger?" Draco said, trying to think of something that he knew about Granger other than the fact that she was annoying, bossy, and a forceful woman. Granger looked at Draco as though he had grown seven heads. Draco shared a brief commiserating look with Smith.

"It's going really well," Granger beamed. "We were thinking of having it in Australia, like a location themed wedding, but the Portkeys for everyone would be too dear."

"Oh," Astoria smiled. "Have you got a large family? Have you got your colors picked out yet?"

"Well," Granger went on, warming to her topic, "We decided on blue and taupe because when I was younger I went to the seaside and . . ."

"Women," Smith said. "Before we had the advantage."

"Don't be stupid," Draco sighed. "As soon as you've got one witch anywhere you're at the disadvantage."

Things from then on worked extremely well. Everyone had their niche and no one really treaded on anyone else's. Draco dealt with the schools and the statistics, and Smith dealt with the writing, even though everyone called into question his skill at different times. Astoria dealt with the hospitals and their data and Granger was a liaison for the Ministry and would file all the paperwork. Occasionally someone helped the other out if they fell behind, or offered to read this or that reference, or to cross reference, especially Granger, who was set to go on maternity leave soon. It was pretty ideal, even though outside of a working situation Draco didn't think he could particularly stand either Smith or Granger.

"Has anyone got the _Ministry Agenda on Substantial Reforms_?" Granger asked, stretching out on the sofa. "I need to cross reference how many studies tend to get funded with this many people being surveyed. How many people are we surveying, Malfoy?"

"Between fifteen and twenty families," Draco said, lighting another fag and passing the book and the packet of cigarettes to Smith. "I can't give you a rough estimate of how many people are in a family- how many people are in the average wizarding family as of the last census?"

"The last census has it at 4.2 persons," Smith said, turning the page. "We should round down, I think- rounding up wouldn't be prudent as .2 is so low. What do you think, Malfoy?"

"That the statistics on that alone would take a whole new study," Draco sighed, covering his eyes. "Does that answer your question, Granger- let's put down eighty people, twenty families. Unless you want to add something?"

"Gods no," Granger yawned. "I'm half-asleep as it is. This is just the preliminary work, let the Ministry finance the budget for an inquest if they disagree with the information we have provided in the folio. Does anyone want to add anything- any funding for transportation, Portkeys, the Express, even Floo powder? Because if not then I think we are actually really ready to file this with the Ministry of Magic."

"Are you sure?" Smith asked eagerly. "I might have to run it through with a spell checking quill. Also- Draco hasn't gotten back to me with his notations on the General Chart C-"

"I have until next Monday, you bloody git," Draco said with a sneer, "And I, unlike you, actually work a forty hour work week in addition to this! _Merlin!_"

"Never mind Zach, Push," Astoria said pleadingly, "I'm sure I can help you with the last of the Arthimancy if I get some time off from work."

"Don't worry Astoria," Granger smiled, and then she glared at Smith. "Malfoy, you can come over my house and we'll work on it together. I'm going to be on maternity leave starting next week so I'll be bored out of my mind. Are you free next Saturday?"

"After six," Draco said, looking at Granger curiously. This was the first invitation that he had received to Granger's and Weasley's house that hadn't come second hand from Harry's mouth. Draco forced down his emotions about Harry- they'd do no good when he needed to focus on the study. Bless the study for being such a good distraction. "I tutor the children of Dismal during the day."

"Oh," Granger said brightly although Draco didn't need her approval she was obviously giving it. "How wonderful- I'll see you whenever you're free then."

Astoria looked at Draco speculatively and Draco rolled his eyes- he could hear her thoughts loud and clear from here. Just because Draco was going to eat dinner and work at Granger and Weasley's for an evening _did_ not mean he was any closer to getting back with Harry.

It just did _not_.

* * *

"There's a chance that he'll be there today," Astoria said, shooing Allison away from her new black cloak. It didn't do any good- Allison purposely left more cat hair on the garment to spite Draco's friend.

"There's a chance that one day you'll shut it," Draco said tugging on a strand of Astoria's blonde hair. "It's a small one, but it's there all the same."

Astoria laughed gaily. "Oh, Pushy, I know that you love me underneath all your griping-it's the Slytherin way. I also know that you simply can't go to Granger's wearing the same outfit that you were tutoring the children on the Alley in. You look like a crup's dinner."

Draco laid down on his bed whilst Astoria rifled through his belongings. He didn't care what she picked out for him to wear. In fact he was beginning to regret agreeing to go to Granger and Weasleys flat for dinner and the final edits. He had never much cared for their company when Draco and Harry had begun dating, and now that they weren't, it was really rather strange that he now could hold deep intellectual debates with Granger. Draco had even passed Weasley on Diagon Alley whilst shopping without feeling the slightest ill will towards him. Oddly enough, they had nodded hello at each other- an awkward hello, but a greeting all the same.

It was hard to accept that. In fact, it had stuck in Draco's throat, much like disloyalty. But disloyalty to who? Draco wasn't Harry's lover anymore and even if he had been, being friendly towards his best mates was something he should have been doing all along. If he wanted to call himself Harry's friend (which he was not) he should _still_ be friendly toward Granger and Weasley. Even as a human wizard in the world his actions toward them now were better and more decent than before. So why did he hate himself for it?

Perhaps because it changed nothing.

And perhaps, because like all Slytherin actions, it stunk of hypocrisy.

"There," Astoria said, gesturing to the outfit that she had neatly laid out on Draco's rocking chair. "What do you think of that?"

Draco sat up and looked. It was his tightest and narrowed pair of black jeans, a v-neck gray t-shirt and his jacket with the leather studs that he rarely ever wore because it wasn't at all good for keeping out a chill.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit camp for going to see Granger about some maths edits, isn't it?"

"Granger lives in a luxury building," Astoria protested, holding up the shirt to Draco's body. "Even if you don't see Harry Potter you might see a nice wizard coming out of a gym or a fit bloke in the lift. Pushy you _are_ ridiculously attractive for a gay man- can't you bloody act like it?"

Draco rolled his eyes and with a flick of his wand exchanged the gray shirt for the black one still in the closet. "If we're going to send me out into the wasteland that is London, we might as well do it full on."

Astoria laughed, delighted.

"Malfoy," Weasley said warmly. He was dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt with a hole on the armpit. Draco would have felt overdressed if he hadn't changed his mind at the last minute and put on his looser fit jeans. "Come on in- Hermione has turned our sitting room into Ground Zero for your study. I don't understand half of what's going on, but she has me casting folding spells and stuffing envelopes."

"Ah," Draco smiled back, forcing his nerves to the back of his mind. It was so bloody bizarre being here without Harry- but again, Draco pushed that out of his mind and the nerves faded a little. "Remember all duplicate spells must be cast for triplicates."

"Pretty much," Weasley laughed, clapping Draco's shoulder. "Let me take your jacket. Would you like some wine?"

"Sure," Draco said, relieved at the offer. He made his way into the living room. Granger was seated in a floral dress, her shoes off to the left of her body, and she was surrounded with various copies of their study.

"Oh, thank the gods you're here," Granger said, leaning back against the chair behind her. "I have half a dozen questions for you and I'm only up to pages 38-b and c. Did you use Drummels permutations to calibrate your averages or did you simplify and then subdivide?"

Weasley came in and handed Draco a glass of wine. "I'm not staying," Weasley laughed. "I'm going to my local, Hermione. Have fun with your little friend and don't stay up too late, it's a school night."

Granger gave Weasley a two-fingered salute and Draco smothered a chuckle. he hadn't realized that Granger had the capacity for a sense of humor until he had started working closely with her on the study.

As soon as Weasley left Granger smiled at Draco. "Would you like something to eat- I'm being a terrible hostess, I know, but if we can file this before mid-week, I really think we'll have a chance to get ahead with the planning, and the outline for the full study."

"I agree," Draco sighed. "But maybe a break for food- in any event, to answer your question, I referenced Amelia Petersen's _Elemental Magical Statisics_ and it states that without magical living subjects and only magical data in a study one should always simplify and then subdivide. I went on to mention that later on in the study, but I think we might have to edit it in sooner."

"Right," Granger said, making a notation and spellotaping it into her final draft of the study. "Let's move on together then, shall we?"

It ended up taking a half a bottle of wine on Draco's part and a half a pack of cigarettes which Granger insisted he step out to smoke, but they were finally done. Granger was actually making him dinner, which was rather decent of her- she had some stew left over from the night before and she was heating up some instant bread with her wand so they could eat it together. Draco had thought it would be rather strange, eating now, with Granger, but it wasn't so very bad. Granger was a decent person when one got to know her, she grew on you like good cheese or a fine wine, not like the mold Draco had always compared her to.

"More wine?" Granger called from the kitchen.

"Merlin, no." Draco laughed. "Water please, with ice- I've got to take the Express or the Floo and I don't want to look like a vagabond."

Granger walked in with the plates and Draco rose to help her set them down.

"It was good working with you," Granger said charitably. "I think you could have worked this study alone, Malfoy, you've the mind for it."

"I couldn't have," Draco protested- Granger had never complimented his intellect and it made him feel rather pleased. "I don't have the time for one, and the contacts for another. We all need each other, somehow."

"I underestimated you," Granger said softly. "I am sorry."

"Quite," Draco drawled, but then he paused- "And I feel the same."

The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence. Granger wasn't the type of person that Draco would have chosen for one of his closest friends but Draco enjoyed working with her and debating with her. If there was ever a chance of working with Granger again Draco would not let it slip away- she was honest, professional, decent and rather a good cook these days. Draco liked her.

The wards of their flat warped and Weasley walked in. His face was a bit red from drinking but he looked sober enough- Weasley had never been much of a drinking man, and even when had drunk a lot he always could handle his liquor. In fact, Weasley looked rather surprised to see that Draco was still there.

"Hiya, Malfoy," Weasley said, scratching at one red ear. "You're still here? I thought you'd have been done by now-"

"Ronald!" Granger hissed, and then looked at Draco apologetically. "Gods, Malfoy, I'm sorry- he's acting like such a heathen right now-"

Harry was behind him. Draco felt his whole body tense. It was _Harry_- after so many months, standing right there, right behind Weasley.

Draco couldn't breathe. Harry was looking at Draco and Draco was most certainly half- drunk and he had ink on his hands and he was over-dressed. Worse than that Draco was sitting at that Harry's best mate's table, chatting up Hermione Granger. Inside, Draco cringed. He looked like a desperate fool and an obsessed fan rolled in one. And Harry looked so _good_, even though he was obviously pissed. _Gods_, why was there nothing to say? Draco opened his mouth. The seconds felt incredibly long and then finally-

"We came back here to listen to the match," Weasley offered but Granger only glared evenly.

"I'm leaving," Draco said, leaping up from the table. He was an embarrassment, and his face was blazing. "Thank you, Granger, for a lovely meal. If I could have my jacket, please, Weasley?"

"Sure, sure," Weasley said with large, round eyes, _accio_-ing Draco's jacket from a hall cupboard. "I'll see you around, then, Malfoy."

"You don't have to go, Draco," Harry said evenly, something trembling in his voice. "It's fine."

"I should," Draco said, not raising his eyes to look at Harry's- underneath his jacket his hands were shaking. "Goodbye."

Draco dashed out into the hall as fast as his legs could carry him and pressed the down button on the lift over and over. The lift was taking so bloody _long_ to come and Draco was about to have a panic attack in this bloody hallway like he used to have in the times just after the war when everything had seemed bleak and horrible. Draco imagined himself blacking out and hyperventilating Granger's sitting room and forced himself took deep, calming breaths. Finally, the lift arrived.

Draco got on board. Thankfully, at this late hour he was the only one there. He leaned against the golden balustrade that was in the elaborate elevator, as the first tears began to fall. _Gods_- he should have bloody stayed and talked to Harry- and told him the truth, and told him that he still loved him and wanted to be with him, even if that meant that Draco would be making a fool of himself. At least then he'd have know that he would have done everything in his power to get Harry back, instead of clinging to his false pride which was one of the things that had kept them apart to begin with.

Coming to a decision, Draco slipped on his jacket and pressed level three for Granger and Weasley's floor- and the lift came to a standstill. The cool, enchanted voice of the lift said-_You seem to be confused, would you like level three or the ground floor, please?_

Draco sighed and shook his head. "Ground floor."

Harry was gone and Draco was clinging to nothing, just false hope.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Lots of reviews on the last chapter, thank you guys. This is just a bridge into the next one, where some defining things take place. Someone in either this chapter or the last one wanted to know who out of the two of them would be changing the most. Hmm. I think it's going to be more clear next chapter, especially since Harry's already been hurt and somewhat (somewhat?) depressed this entire time about this breakup. I think up until now Draco's been in a type of denial except for not sleeping enough. Next chapter we'll see much more of what his 'not sleeping' has consisted of. _

_Someone also wanted to know when they got some 'damned sense'. Not this chapter, next one.  
_

* * *

Chapter 13:

It was the spoon that had finally done Harry in.

Harry had been sitting at home, listening to the wireless, when he'd looked down at his spoon. Draco had picked out that set for him. Usually that would have made Harry upset, it might have even set off a bout of moping, but today it trigged another response. Draco had picked out that set, and Harry had paid for it. Draco had picked out that set after every _single_ other set of cutlery in the store had been ridiculed, and all of Harry's choices had been slightly mocked. And worst of all, Draco had picked out that set for a home that he didn't even live in, and had no intention of ever sharing with Harry.

_Anger._

He was angry. Harry threw the spoon across the room. Milk splattered across the wall, dripping down the dull ecru paint that Hermione had picked out years ago. Harry had once shagged Draco against that wall, not that it had done much of anything. At the end of the night, Draco had gone home to Algernon Bones without a word. At the end of their relationship, Draco had picked up and had left. If this would have been a divorce, Draco would have even gotten partial custody of Hermione!

Harry cracked his knuckle. He was trying desperately to hang onto his anger and not slip into sadness again. The anger felt good; the anger felt righteous. The anger covered up for the fact that in the back of Harry's mind, Harry was thinking about the way Draco had looked in his loose trousers, cradling the wild wizard jacket that Harry loved to see on him but Draco hardly wore. _It doesn't befit a schoolteacher, Potter,_ Draco had always said, but Harry could tell that he loved the attention he got when he wore it.

Was it the attention, then? Had Harry not-

_No._

He was done with that. Harry had run through all his past crimes and all his sins. He had played out all the ways he had been the good Auror and the millions of ways he had been the bad one. _Hades_, as of late, Harry was down to ruminating on the negligent and merely stupid things he had done. But now he was going to change. Now Harry was going to focus on something else. The wall. Harry laughed. Draco would _not_ have found that funny. It made Harry want to toss the whole bowl of cereal at the hideous paint. What _had _Hermione been thinking? Aha- maybe in that way Draco and Hermione were two of a kind.

What was it that witches did after breakups on the wireless? They rounded up portraits of their husbands or lovers and hexed them. Harry ought to do that, in fact, he'd never heard of anything more brilliant in his entire life. That or round up all of Draco's belongings and cast a bonfire. No, never mind that- then he'd have to call the Aurors on himself.

Had Draco done that to his things? The idea suddenly lost a little bit of it's merit when compared to Draco '_Pushy'_ Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass rooting through the old gifts that Harry had given to him. Harry suddenly felt a bit horrified of himself. He had always prided himself in the bigger person, but he knew without question that Draco would never think of _banishing_ a gift that Harry had given him. Draco simply wouldn't think about it. Draco didn't attach memories to objects the way that Harry did- he'd grown up with so much.

How odd to know a person so well and to have no connection to them anymore.

_And to not want one, _Harry's mind supplied, still vicious.

No, that was a lie. When Harry had seen Draco at Ron's flat the first thing he'd wanted to do was go to him. It was very instinctual, even though part of Harry had wanted to make Draco pay for staying away all those months, to make him pay for choosing his ideology over his heart, and to make him pay for choosing Dismal Alley over Harry. Well, despite all that he couldn't. He wanted to talk. Really. Just talk. He wanted Draco to understand his point of view, and to see his mind set, now, that things had cooled from their argument. It wasn't so much to get back together, but to settle the unsettled. Somewhat. Somehow. Well, that was what Harry had wanted.

What had Draco wanted?

To flee.

Draco was remarkably good at running. He had even told Harry that, early on in their relationship, when he had still been with Algernon Bones. _Why did you go to therapy even after the case was closed? _Harry had asked. Draco had made a wry sort of face and had pointed from himself to Harry. _Part of it was to cure me of this. _

Harry had thought it was hilarious at the time, because who would have known that Draco would have gotten involved with Harry Potter? But Draco hadn't meant that, and Harry understood that now. He understood so much about Draco that he had overlooked, ignored, or tried to shag away before. Harry hadn't paid any mind to his mum, for instance, or to the fact that Draco had _loathed_ tutoring although all the signs had been there. He hadn't noticed that Teddy made Draco happier towards the end than Harry did, or that Darby was a line in the sand.

Harry was supposed to stand up to Draco going away. Just like Algernon Bones was supposed to stand up to Harry.

Which was _idiotic_, but that was Draco's logic. Draco wanted someone to save him. He had dated Pansy Parkinson, who looked like a dog and had held Draco like a bone, and then two Aurors. Draco loved strong people. But he didn't like the other side of that- the side that said _no_ and meant it. He wanted to be saved, and he wanted to be the boss. He wanted to run and he wanted to be found.

In short, he had no _idea_ what he wanted.

And Harry was sick of it.

Harry was sick of waiting around and hoping for the best to come around for himself. Part of him thought it was what he deserved for the Algernon Bones debacle, and then, by some miracle of their affair, love had followed. But that wasn't to speak badly of the three years. They had been three solid, amazing years- the best years of Harry's life. Draco was amazing. He was smart, and sharp, and witty, and great with children. But those attributes on parchment didn't automatically translate to success in a relationship.

So had they forced it, or had it been Harry's real love- the real love his parents had- the real love worth dying for?

_Gods_, Harry didn't know anymore. He was angry, and hurt and bitter, and he still loved Draco more than anyone. If Draco came through the door right now with a trunk and his wand, would Harry chuck him out? He had no idea. Maybe today. Maybe not tomorrow.

What did it matter? If Draco ever came back again, he'd only leave in the morning.

Or he'd have another wizard on the side.

Harry snorted wryly. _Time to watch the trainees._

* * *

"I packed," Harry said to Ron over an acrid cup of coffee. It was an Americanism he had picked up during his training that he had adopted for their surveillance nights. Ron, however, stuck to tea.

Ron looked away from the row of supposedly abandoned Knockturn Alley warehouses. They were supposed to be waiting for a drop off of crates filled with shoddy brooms and knock-off Quidditch team merchandise. Neither of them were paying much attention to this case. In a world filled with murders, rapes, missing children and fraud, Harry thought it spoke to the testament of the mighty galleon that hot _Appleby Arrows_ robes were being traced by war heroes.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked mildly. "And can I slide-along?"

Harry snorted. "Not a holiday. My ex's things. I packed them up, and I put them in the attic. Seemed fitting, considering the fact that he's a Black."

For a long moment Ron didn't say a single thing. Then he turned back to the warehouses. Harry stared at him, watching the bright contrast of Ron's hair against the dingy rows of buildings. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned it at all to Ron- maybe he should have saved it for his all-too-rare trips to see Neville, or for Luna. Ron never complained when Harry went on and on about his ex, but he never said much either. The air of the whole evening, though, seemed to change.

"If you're going to make a clean break," Ron finally said, in a tone which had no discernable emotion, "Why didn't you post everything to Malfoy's house? Or send it to a charity?"

Harry flinched at the idea.

"The idea was just to get it out of sight," Harry grumbled back. "I just couldn't stand seeing it there, day after day. Besides, he had shit taste in trainers."

Ron's mouth twitched. "I'm sure that he does. When did you stop saying his name?"

Harry stopped walking. He spun around in place and rounded in on Ron.

"What do you mean?" Harry accused.

"You can't even say his name anymore," Ron shrugged. "I reckon that's because you're angry that he left that night at the flat-"

"_What_?" Harry scoffed. "I can say his name! I say it all the time. Never mind that- I _said_ it all the time. Maybe now I'm tired of saying it all the time and I want to say something else for a change. Maybe now I want to _do_ something else for a change with my life."

"Fine with me," Ron shrugged, nonplussed. Distantly, Harry had the feeling that Ron had become used to dealing with his erratic outbursts lately. Had he gone completely mental over this whole affair? _Fuck_ Malfoy for driving him mad.

"We're supposed to be working," Ron continued with great annoyance as he began surveying a wall with his wand to check for any hidden entrances. "And I'm tired about hearing about Malfoy! I go home and I hear it, and I come to work and I hear it! You've been wanking to Malfoy since you came back from New York, Harry! It's not going to go away now, so stop talking about it! And for Merlin's sake, stop talking to me about it!"

Very, _very_ distantly, in the recesses of his mind, Harry was amused. He had caused Ron to crack and use foul language, which Ron tried to refrain from above all things- he was, after all, his mum's son. But the greater part of Harry was still enraged, and he needed an outlet. And since the focus of his rage was conveniently out of town and ensconced in Darby, he was going to have to focus in on Ron and the little wrong Ron had done him recently.

"Oh piss off, Ron," Harry huffed. "It's nothing you haven't heard whilst flicking and swishing through the wireless late at night. And how could you invite me back to yours when you knew that _he_ was going to be there?"

Ron flushed as Harry set a ward around the vicinity.

"I didn't know he was going to stay that late!" Ron muttered. "And I was pissed! Anyway, there was no harm done, and Malfoy left. Are you still upset about that?"

Ron had on the face of a concerned best mate and Harry didn't have the nerve to keep pushing at him. _Had_ Harry been upset to see Draco? Gods, he didn't know anymore. Part of him was still so angry, and so upset. But that night- that night he would have done anything to make Draco understand that he would have done _anything_ for them to have worked. Then. Now? He didn't know. Draco had to put it effort, too. And all Harry had seen was his Apparation act.

"No," Harry shrugged. How could he explain it all out? He didn't think he could even explain it to Draco, which was why they were in this mess in the first place. "No, I'm alright, mate." "Liar," Ron checked the skies for any fliers, and then Harry's face for any upset. "You aren't. I reckon it's like those stairs."

"What are you on about?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"You know, there's steps," Ron lifted a shoulder. "At first you're all hexed up about being apart and all you can do is cry and eat bad takeaway. Then you mope about, doing nothing, like an Inferi. Now you're angry. Soon you'll be fine, Harry. It's going down steps, to the bottom of the stairs. Then you'll be over it."

"A few moments ago you told me I'd never be over Malfoy," Harry glared at Ron.

"I reckon _you_ won't ever be," Ron sighed, exasperated. "But if Malfoy doesn't want you, he doesn't want you. That's his loss, though. He always was mad, the stupid Slytherin. Look what he did when he was out loose on his own in school."

"He didn't mean what he did," Harry rushed ahead passionately "You know the position that he was in, Ron, it was impossible. What would you have done if your family was basically being held ransom by a mad-"

"That's your problem right there," Ron pointed to Harry. "You want to save Malfoy. Get over that, Harry."

"I don't-" Harry protested lamely.

"Get over it," Ron repeated sternly, much like his own mum would. "He won't thank you for it. I tolerate Malfoy just as much as the next law abiding citizen and I actually think that he still has feelings for you, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't act on yours. Just leave Malfoy alone, Harry. He's got enough work with Hermione and that study and you need to think about what you want. Let him come to you."

"I don't want him back," Harry shrugged. "Gods, Ron- stop being such a matchmaker."

Ron flushed crimson. "You're the one making us play _Soul Seers_."

* * *

Harry was washing the dishes. By hand, quite like the Victorians, as Grimmauld didn't have the proper plumbing. It felt short of good to do something the Muggle way. He had hated it growing up, but if his ex could see him now, it would have annoyed him. He would have said to Harry _oh, just use a spell, you're getting water on the floor-_ or _why do Muggles do that, anyway?_ Harry sometimes had relished the conversations, but other times he had felt as though he was building a rather large bridge that would take an entire architectural crew to manage over decades. Often times those conversations had ended in arguments.

Harry sighed and reached for a towel, drying his hands. He hit the rest of the dishes with a _scourgify_ and went to the sitting room to turn on the wireless.

Today wasn't a good day. He had been clearing out under the sink to properly fix out an old leak that he had been avoiding, when he had come across a pack of his ex's fags. Harry sat down on the sofa to look at the black white and red print as it danced around the carton. He could very faintly smell the tobacco and the additives, and it reminded him of the recent past he didn't want to think on. Maybe Ron was right- maybe the anger was just an excuse. Times like these he wanted nothing more then to do something that would connect himself to Draco.

Harry slipped a cigarette out of the packet and held it up in front of his face. He had _loathed_ Draco's smoking, and Draco had been bewildered and annoyed by Harry's Muggle dishwashing. Two people who knew each other and who didn't know the first thing about each other.

What had they done for three years? Harry suddenly felt sorrow knife through his stomach lining. If he could have it back, he would live it differently. He would stand his ground more, and he would explain himself better.

Harry lit the fag with a quick _incendio_ and held it to his face. His inhale was terrible and shaky and his exhale made himself cough. He was certain helooked daft and not at all cool.

Harry laughed and _banished_ the cigarette. No place better to look stupid than in your own home. In the distance the wireless played a recitation of the news that Harry knew to be incorrect, as he worked in the Ministry. It was lonely, and miserable.

Perhaps he ought to change the wards on the Floo. It was a security risk to have someone he didn't want to come in still welcome; that was the first thing Harry taught single witches when he gave lectures at the workplace.

_No._

Not today.

Tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Hey guys! A lot of people felt for Ron last chapter. I did too. I don't think you're necessarily supposed to feel for any one character more than the other. But Ron's a good character to feel for, if you had to pick one. He's sort of the 'most least flawed'. Anyway, here is this chapter, which takes care of this week's bit of moaning, blackmail and murder in our saga. Oops. No murder. Crap. I'll work on that. I did get Harry and Draco in the same room, as per requests, though._

* * *

Chapter 14:

It was five in the morning, and Draco was still up from the night before.

Somehow that sounded glamorous. But it really wasn't. He couldn't sleep. The _missing Harry _had become, over the last few weeks, a sore sort of a loneliness. Draco had nothing to fill it, and while he knew that he partially he deserved that, it didn't make it any less uncomfortable. Draco watched the sun as it streaked flames across the new sky. Thank the gods it was the weekend. Tory was at the hospital, working, and she would probably be there the entire night. There was no one to Floo. His aunt would be only terrified if he fire-called this early; Cho Chang would only want to go get pissed; and Susan was gone. Which was his own fault, of course.

Odd how that kept happening.

Or not so odd.

Draco had a miserable handful of people now. Less in terms of family. Only his aunt and his cousin. Could he even _truly_ say that his mother understood him, anymore? He didn't know. They had spent so long apart that the distance made him suspicious of her. That and the natural fact that she had deserted him. Draco could dress it up and say that he had been an adult, and that she had given him a choice, but it had felt like an abandonment. Had _that_ done something to his psyche? Oh, now he was just being daft- he would have never even thought about his mother and the war if it hadn't been for Harry.

Harry must hate him right now. Draco hoped so. Harry never did anything by halves and if he hated Draco, then it meant that it some way Draco still had a hold over him. Sadly, it was about the same hold that Draco had had over a sixteen year old Harry Potter. But that was better than nothing, and Draco would take what he could get. He would rather be hated by Harry Potter for all the wrong he had done him than be ignored, or forgotten.

A sharp, dull ache lanced through Draco's chest at that. He tried to imagine what Harry was doing. Working, surely, unless his schedule had changed. It was sad that Draco hadn't remembered Harry's schedule when it had counted, but he could rattle it off now with simplistic ease now. Much like he could the statistics for the study.

The bloody study. Draco sighed, turning away from the sun. He _was_ tired, it was just that he couldn't sleep. When he put his head on his pillow he started to think, and when he started to think, he thought about _this_. He should have told Harry about Dismal Alley himself, earlier. He _should_ have. He knew it from the moment that he knew where Darby was located. Why didn't he do it, then? Draco didn't actually have a response for that. Every time he wanted to, or meant to, they rowed until Draco felt some sick sense of achievement in holding or _withholding_ the information from Harry.

If Draco had been having an affair, then the whole of Dismal Alley had metaphorically climbed into his bed.

Draco winced. That sound bad. Or it sounded truthful. Or he just needed sleep. Draco had no bloody idea which was the right answer, only the longer he was awake, day after day, the more desperate he felt.

If Draco had been braver, or madder, he would have gone to see Harry by now. He thought of it, from time to time. The idea had merit, but what could Draco say? _Sorry I ran from you. I had a panic attack, in case it matters. _

If he went to Harry like that he would be weak, and Harry would be in the position of constantly being the one to have to take care of him. Draco _loathed _that, even as much as he had once hated admitting to a fault. Well, now, time had made him see the multitude of errors he could make, and how well he made them. But Draco couldn't go back to Harry like this. Not simpering and sniveling and _begging._ It chafed at him. Harry would be his only ward from the press; from the majority of the Weasleys- from the world. It was awful.

Draco was too much of a coward to fix the little he could.

Once, Draco had even thought that he had even seen Harry, here, around Dismal. Draco had gone to the shops and when he had come out he had seen a wizard with messy, dark hair. His stomach had flipped up expectantly, before he noticed the patches of grey on the sides, near the ears. It had been enough to ruin his mood for the rest of the afternoon, and when Astoria had come by, Draco had pretended to be out. But where would he have gone? Honestly, it wasn't as if he even talked to the rest of _their_ set.

Maybe he ought to move. The idea ached, but maybe it was for the best. He could start over in France, with his mother. Maybe he was supposed to have gone there from the start. All he kept doing here was making things worse.

And anyway, Harry was too good for him.

Draco looked out at the sky. Maybe it was because he was so bloody exhausted, or maybe it was because Draco had smoked all of the fags he usually kept hidden in the house, but that last thought felt like a revelation.

Harry _was_ too good for him.

In a multitude of ways.

Harry had slept with him after Draco had practically murdered him, even though it had been a hundred years ago in terms of their offenses against each other. Harry had always ignored Draco's little flights away when the paps drove him mad. Harry had never said anything about Draco's upset about the whole Algernon Bones situation. Harry had even stayed with Draco when he had moved away and taken a post in another village; in a place which put deliberate distance between Draco and Harry's livelihood.

And what had Draco done?

Well, a lot of nothing, truth be told. He had never tried with the Weasleys. He had never tried with Harry's mates- except for that bizarre understanding with Ron Weasley. The only people Draco had had any friendship with were the Aurors, and that was because the Aurors had been Algernon's mates first. All of that must have made Harry miserable, or at the least, disappointed.

Draco _could_ justify it. The Weasleys had never tried with Draco, either. They had been cruel and dismissive, and vengeful. They had been unwilling to forget the past, and unable to forgive the fact that Draco was not Ginny Weasley in Harry's bed. But Draco had lied and justified and told himself so many half-truths for so long that he was as bad as his cruelest detractor. _He_ had done this to himself- not the Weasleys, or his probation, or even the media. If Draco had been completely honest with Harry for one miserable day in their relationship then-

Draco could tell himself that the reason he had run from Harry was because of the press. Draco could lie to himself right now and say wasn't because he was afraid of everything else- not because of the enormity of life with Harry Potter. Not because of the conversations they had avoided about London, about ideals, about his family and the want of a future family.

At the end of the day, Harry had been Draco's mountain to _accio_, and just like in the fable, the wizard had failed.

It felt like Draco had just been falling to sleep when the door chimed. Draco sighed, staring at the ceiling. No reassuring crack of Snape's nose, and no answers to any of his questions. No real resolution. The only thing he had really learned was how much he lacked. Draco had thought he had gone through all of that at the close of the war, but it seemed as though life was always willing to take him down another peg or two.

The door chimed again. Draco sighed. It was only one of four people anyway, and his aunt wouldn't make the journey to Darby without telling him first. Draco wondered if that was because she thought he had a new 'young wizard' as she called it. Draco scoffed under his breath. No matter _how_ much Andromeda might wish that to be the case to put added space between himself and Harry, it just wouldn't happen overnight.

The door went off again. Draco was ignoring it. If it was Astoria, in a moment she'd be up the Floo to come over anyway. Draco was tired. He was bored of company. The study had made company necessary, but Draco couldn't see the need now.

What had he been thinking about? Something awful, certainly-

The door right outside his bedroom banged ruthlessly before it opened. It was Astoria, casting _lumos_ in front of herself. Her eyes were closed.

"Are you decent, Push?" Tory asked.

"Never," Draco drawled. "What is it- didn't you hear I was ignoring you?"

"Not at all," Astoria responded, climbing into bed with him. "Considering the fact you didn't make a sound. Did you sleep at all last night, Draco Malfoy?"

"In snatches," Draco didn't see the point in lying to her anymore. Tory was a smart witch, a Healer, and his good friend. What she couldn't tell by her intuition, she could tell by her professional opinion these days.

"Oh, _Pushy_," Astoria settled right along side him. "Come out with me today. _Please_. Or come to my house. I made profiteroles- I can't say anything about their quality, because I haven't had one yet, but I did try."

"I can't imagine your baking," Draco sniffed, amused. "Did you have to firecall one of your parent's old house elves to figure out the instructions? Or was it that you found out that Smith loves profiteroles?"

"Don't tease me," Astoria cried. "I'm trying to help you. All you do is spend your days moping over Harry Potter. Now I _hate_ Harry Potter and every time I see a photograph of him in the papers I get a nervous rash." "Are you sure it's from nerves," Draco continued, "Or did you and Smith finally-"

"_Silencio_!" Astoria finally reached for her wand.

Draco let her. His wand was across the room by his emptied pack of fags. Besides, rowing with her was better than thinking or talking about what was going on in his head and his life. After a moment though, Astoria reversed the spell. She had always been a soft touch for a Slytherin.

"Draco," Astoria said softly, stroking his head. He let her do that, too. It was rather like what he did to Allison when he was bored, but it was rather sweet in it's indulgent way. "Your hair is getting so long. I quite like it. You look younger. Remember the year my father had the little curricle races across the lawn on our estate? And you entered- even though you were younger than most of the boys like Pucey and Harrow and Higgs?"

Yes, Draco remembered that. The prize had been a gyroscope, and Draco had been fascinated by the Arthimacy behind it. Mother had been terrified that he would fall from the skies and die, but Father had forced her to go inside with Mrs. Nott. It had been hard going, much harder to control the pair of Granians than it had ever been to compete against Harry Potter in Quidditch. In the end Draco _had_ been thrown, but just at the finish line, as he rounded a corner, just in sight of his shining bronzed prize. For the rest of the day Draco had sulked inside with his mother, refusing to eat or enjoy the other games.

"I lost," Draco shrugged. "What's your point, Tory? All children face humiliation. I was lucky my father was there or Harrow would have hexed my trousers off as well. Superior shit- glad he went to Durmstrang."

"You lost," Astoria agreed. "You were the youngest, and you held on longer than a great deal of some of the older boys. But instead of cutting your losses, you spent the day sulking. I'm willing to bet you never ever flew a curricle again."

_No- _that was a lie. Draco did, years later, on the Bones estate, Lansdowne. He flew against Algernon, and then his father one Yule. Draco winced at the memory. It was all bad memories; one stacked atop another.

"All I'm trying to say," Astoria soldiered on, ignoring Draco's upset. "Is that you are doing the same thing. You're ignoring your successes and focusing on your failures, Pushy. You could have Harry Potter here, right now, if you sent him an Owl."

Draco sat up and went to the small table in his room. There were no fags in the packet, but there were butts strewn across the room. He had grown so lazy that he hadn't even bothered to _banish_ his mess lately. Astoria tapped his shoulder. She was holding a cigarette, unlit.

"I love you," she smiled. "I just want you to be happy."

"Don't be sentimental," Draco smiled back, taking the cigarette and lighting it. It wasn't his brand, and the smoke was fragrant- targeted for witches. "What do you propose we do, oh wise Greek Oracle?"

"Eat the profiteroles I made," Astoria sighed. "And then we can figure out what to do with your relationship. And your hair."

"My hair is fine!" Draco hissed back.

* * *

"Your hair isn't fine," Astoria said in her own kitchen. "It's long. Disturbingly long. Aren't you worried that people are going to start comparing you to your father again?"

Draco flinched. "I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, though."

"Sorry," Astoria shrugged. "Anyway, your hair is brown. And you don't wear it tied back. For _whatever_ reason."

"Why do people feel the need to mother me?" Draco asked rhetorically.

Astoria rolled her eyes and walked in to her own sitting room. Draco had to admit that her own living room was nicer than his, even if their homes were roughly the same size. Draco had, of late, become far too attached to reading Smith's controversial journals late at night, of grading in his pants, and of leaving his cigarette butts _unbanished_. The resulting mess was so bad that it made him a parody of a Hufflepuff who had been cast aside.

"Here they are," Astoria sang, gesturing to the small table. "What do you think, Push? Did I put too much filling- I hear it's good to be generous, but a Slytherin never knows."

They did look good. Draco could feel his mouth water obligingly. But on the other hand, Astoria had never baked him anything in her life, and he was sure that she had never had to before. Either she was desperately trying to impress Smith, or she was desperately tired of hearing Draco go on about Harry.

"Eat one," Astoria commanded, as if her words were _imperio_ alone. Too much time spent about Granger lead to no good, obviously.

Draco bit into one- and held back a moan.

"Surprisingly not poisonous," Draco drawled. "Good job, Greengrass. Is this tray for me?"

"No, it's for Teddy Lupin," Astoria huffed. "Am I still going with you to see him tomorrow?"

"Yes," Draco said cagily. He had a feeling that Astoria was going somewhere with this. The food, he was gathering, was only a lure. Had she secured her wards about him? Was this a type of intervention?

"Draco," she said simply. "I want you to go to see Harry Potter."

"Astoria!" Draco muttered through cake in his mouth. "I can't just go over to his house. Anyway, as I've told you before, the situation is complex. _Very_ complex. Besides, the last time I saw him I froze as though I had been petrified. I doubt he ever wants to see me again."

"Don't be stupid," Astoria said dismissively. "I'm sure he does. At the very least he wants to hex you between the eyes, and I'm starting to see why. Actually, Draco, I'm going to blackmail you into seeing Harry Potter."

"Oh?" Now Draco was amused. He had known Tory when she had worn her hair in two plaits down her back. This all felt ridiculous.

"Yes," Astoria continued sternly. "If you don't see Potter- _tonight_- I'll tell my sister everything that you've told me."

Draco froze, his half-eaten pastry on a return journey to his mouth. Astoria's sister Daphne was the Editor-in-Chief and one of the founders of the _News of the Globe,_ the tabloid that she had founded with their old Slytherin set. Draco had often been a focus of their stories, especially when he got together with Harry and Algernon died. There had even been a whole series back then, Draco remembered with a sort of amused resignation. It had been like reading about a wizard who lived a life rather like his own, with rather fixed differences. But when Draco and Harry had broken up, he had forced himself not to read any more of that rubbish- the study and his students and come first, and he hadn't wanted to know anymore of the lies that twisted the whole world against him.

"You wouldn't," Draco said faintly. He wasn't sure whether to scoff at her or to be impressed. Astoria had always seemed rather laid back for a Slytherin.

"Draco," Astoria responded seriously. "If you can steer that curricle, you can go to see Harry Potter. Tonight."

* * *

That was how Draco ended up back home, staring his Floo in the face, his cat and Astoria watching curiously and intently. Tory and Draco hadn't been sure if her Floo would have admitted him through to Grimmauld Place, considering how many wards and precautions Harry had on his home, including _fidelius._ Draco still wasn't even sure if Harry had modified the wards to the house, or blocked the Floo, which would have, in essence, kept Draco out. Draco had tried to explain that to Astoria, but logic was no longer on the side of his friend. Astoria had grown positively bovine over the whole situation. Or, Draco had become so insufferable that she had been forced to intervene.

"You're not _really_ going to blackmail us, are you?" Draco said. He tried to ignore the fact that he used _us_, as though he and Harry were still a couple.

"Get through the Floo, Malfoy," Astoria commanded, with a gleam in her eye. Draco liked to think it was humorous, and not malicious.

Draco covertly crossed his fingers on his left hand, and leapt.

All of the lights in the sitting room were off. Harry wasn't home. Draco sighed. It was a coward's sigh of relief, but it was still there. Technically, this was a type of breaking through wards and trespassing. He was sure that according to his parole he was in violation of his terms and could be sent to detention or imprisonment. Dating an Auror had taught Draco a lot. Actually, dating _two_ Aurors had taught Draco-

"Draco," It was Harry's voice in the darkness. He sounded neutral, distant. Draco's stomach fell a fraction. _Well, _he cheered himself. _At least he didn't say Malfoy._

"_Lumos_," Draco then cast a light on the tallow candles he often brought there himself. It was an odd sensation. "You got rid off the sconces over the stairwell."

"Yeah," Harry scratched his head awkwardly. Those sconces had been Draco's idea and they had cost almost all of his check when he had been tutoring. Nice. "You're letting your hair grow. You look younger." "Is it bad?" Draco asked, suddenly afraid. He had the sensation that now Harry would not give him a soft blow, cushioned in a half-compliment.

"Just different," Harry shrugged, his cheeks a bit rosy on the sides. "You actually look more like your mum. Er. Nice."

"Thanks," Draco said dryly, unsure how to take the fact that he looked like Narcissa Malfoy in a bad _glamour_. "You look well."

"I am," Harry lifted a shoulder. "Mostly. And you?"

"Mostly," Draco agreed.

A long silence followed.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Hello everyone! I've been so so happy with the reviews, so I just want to start with a massive thank you for that. Whether you guys agree, disagree, or are just cheering me on you always comment and I really appreciate that. Anyway, thanks to everyone and I quick shout out to Lori94 lol for scripting my chapter this week. I loved that comment, it was hilarious. I tried to get in everything you wanted, but I think I missed one vital thing. Next chapter, okay?_

* * *

Chapter 15:

Harry let out a rough cough.

Draco was here, and he had not thrown him out. Wasn't there a saying about the Achilles' tendon? Harry couldn't remember it now. Hermione had tried to teach him all about the gods in fourth or fifth year, but he had been busy. Or he had told her that to escape the lessons. Anyway, the point of what he was thinking was that Draco was his bloody Achilles' tendon. When Draco was away, Harry had had all of these grand plans for what he was going to do with himself, and how he was going to channel his upset, but the moment he had seen Draco again it had all changed. Draco with his longer-than shoulder length brown hair, and his pointed chin, and his plaid shirt and black tie. If Draco would have been a Muggle he would have looked like someone who belonged in a band that drummed up songs against the establishment.

Bloody hell. Did Smith sing?

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Harry finally asked.

"Yes," Draco perked up, falling into a role. "Please."

Harry started to make the tea, but then he remembered that he had brought a new set of utensils. He winced. Well, there was nothing for it now, he'd have to use the new set or _accio_ down the old ones. This whole situation was going from strained to ridiculously uncomfortable. Harry tried another cough.

"Do you still take sugar?" Harry asked and then winced at himself. Yeah, now he remembered this old feeling- it was the feeling of saying something supremely stupid in front of Draco Malfoy. _Good job._

"It's been three months, Harry," Draco's smile was fond, this time. Usually he looked as though he was waiting to cast for the kill. "Yeah, I still take my tea the same way."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Me too," Draco said seriously. He reached up and scratched the back of his head, and a bit of hair teased up. Harry didn't have the heart to tell him that his whole effect was ruined, and that now he looked rumpled and sleep-deprived. "I _am_ sorry, Harry. I said a lot of things which were -erm- exaggerations of my feelings. And I really shouldn't have left, like that. It was bad all around."

Draco was apologizing. Draco was apologizing _first._ A small, viciously Slytherin part of Harry was rejoicing. It didn't erase all of the times that Harry had had to search Draco out, or plead with Draco not to go, but it was good. Was it good enough? Harry didn't know. It was all very awkward, wasn't it? Harry focused back on the moment. Draco had picked up a scrap of paper on the table across from the sofa, and was making it into the beginnings of an origami shape. Harry recognized it as one of his nervous tics.

"I don't blame you," Harry said, pulling out a sense of goodwill and fair play that he had lost toward the end of their relationship. "I mean I can see _why_ you did what you did. The rows were horrible at times. And then the media-"

"The media was a bloody excuse," Draco said bitterly, looking up from the beginnings of his creation. "You _can_ block it out. Somewhat. If you try. I haven't been reading it at all since I started working in Dismal Alley. I only know what my students tell me."

"Really?" Harry laughed. "Well it's probably for the best anyway. Last week-"

"No," Draco cut him off. "Don't. I really don't care. I wanted to be a school teacher once, and I was happy with that. That's what I want back. Simplicity."

A simple life. Draco had had a simple life, and then he had met Harry. Harry had _wanted_ a simple life, and then he had fallen for Draco. Somehow, the two didn't seem to work at all. There were so many odds. If they hadn't had their pasts, they would have still had Algernon Bones' corpse between them. If Algernon Bones wouldn't have existed, they would have still had the fact that they were fundamentally different people; and that Draco had wanted to teach and research in Dismal, and Harry's work was in London. It was just one thing on top of the other. It was insurmountable. Harry didn't know anymore if he ought to rail against it, or to accept it.

And Draco was just sitting there, folding the bit of parchment, waiting for Harry to speak. For Draco to do this was ridiculously brave- it was braver than Harry had been of late, which had consisted of _banishing_ forks and knives. Harry owed him the truth.

"Are you happy?" Harry asked, surprising even himself. _Great first question._

"Remember the day that you and me and Teddy went out flying," Draco started. "And then we landed on my aunt's roof and we had a picnic, and you told Teddy about all the famous Defense professors around the world, and he tried to have my aunt yell naughty words up the Floo so that he could hear them on the roof?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed. The next day Teddy had had a sunburn, and he had tried to use his abilities to grow foul words on his skin. He only managed to make his heat rash worse, and Andromeda Tonks had sent him a scathing Owl for telling Teddy such traumatizing tales.

"I was happy that day," Draco smiled back. "Happiness is a very temporary thing, isn't it?."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, seriously.

"I don't know," Draco shrugged, returning to his origami creation. Now Harry could see it had legs and a torso. "Happiness seems to me something people seem to buy or sell, or look for in others. People thought that they had found it in the Dark Lord, Harry. And you can believe in someone, then they can lie to you, and trick you outright, and lead you to your death. You can do it to others, too."

"It's not like that," Harry whispered softly. "There are people in London who care about you, and who have completely forgotten that. The Aurors know the truth. Cho knows it. _I_ know it, Draco. I don't blame you. I blame myself, actually. I wanted you and I chased after you, knowing-"

"_Stop_," Draco hissed back. "I don't want to talk about that! And as for blame-I do! Every day!"

_Bones_. Always there.

Crouched in every shadow, in every line of Draco's old pain was Bones. Harry remembered Bones far too well, better than most of the dead he attributed to himself. Bones, tall and affable and strong. Bones- training in the bullpen in the early morning hours, talking about Draco, making Harry sick. Bones, mixing drinks at the Tonks cottage for himself and Draco and Susan Bones. Bones- cradling Draco's face at the _Red Responders_, like someone who understood all too well the gift he had been given. Bones- laughing with Sampson, with Landry, with Ron- and always, always excluding Harry. Had Bones known? Had Bones known about the affair? What was coming?

"You're still jealous," Draco said and then he snorted, still the Slytherin with his masks. "He died, and we're not even together, and you're still jealous." "You loved him," Harry said, quite evenly. If Draco had brought some truths from Darby, then Harry could charm home some of his own. "Sometimes I think you still do."

"You're mad," Draco responded dismissively, though he _did_ look a bit panicked about the eyes. _Aha_- flight or flight, because Draco had never, _ever_ stayed to fight before. "This whole conversation has reached a level of stupidity never seen outside our Hogwarts matches."

"You loved him," Harry persisted, and Draco's hand trembled on the bit of parchment he had folded into an accordion. "Just say it, Draco. For fuck's sake, we're not even shagging anymore. And the bloke is dead."

"What does it even matter?" Draco countered. "Who I loved? Once they are beyond the Veil, they are in the gods' hands."

"You _did_ love him," Harry hammered home the truth with brutal force. He didn't know why it mattered if Draco said it or not. Maybe because if _Harry_ had died he would want Draco to acknowledge it to Bones or to some nameless, faceless bloke that would follow _him._ Or maybe it was just because Harry felt guilty, and the only way to strike out was to hit Draco instead of admitting his own pain.

"Fine," Draco shrugged out carelessly, knocking all the paper off of the table. "I _did_. So what? Didn't you love Ginny Weasley once? Don't you still love her in a way? Why should I be condemned for loving him! I did! He was good to me and he was funny and smart and kind and we had so much fun together. He was my best mate, Harry! My _best_ mate for over three years! He left me everything in his will! He was lovely to Teddy! I never wanted him to die!"

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, feeling like he had walked into a wound that was even deeper than he imagined. "I'm sorry."

"Well," Draco was _accio_-ing the papers off the floor. His wand was trembling slightly in his hand. "I don't ask you about Fred Weasley, now do I? It's just I can't talk about him. For gods' sake, Harry you _knew_ him."

"He hated me," Harry admitted. "Do you think he kn-"

"No," Draco said dismissively, but then he paused. "Maybe. Only the gods know. He had good and bad like every wizard and he died because of circumstances beyond his control."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said firmly. He wanted Draco to know that. Whether or not Bones had known, or whether or not Draco had guilt for his love or former relationship with him, Bones had just been doing his job. He was an Auror, and he was meant to duel against crime. Harry went out everyday for that same goal. Harry didn't want Draco blaming himself if _he_-

"It _wasn't,_" Harry repeated forcefully.

"Thanks," Draco smiled. A small silence followed.

"How have you been?" Draco asked. "I mean, other than throwing out the utensils and my sconces."

Harry blushed. It was stupid, and now that he could see Draco- penitent, clever and beautiful Draco- he was ashamed. "Working. Planning a wedding. Or assisting, rather."

"Ah," Draco nodded. "I heard about that."

"Right," Harry agreed. Of course Draco did, he saw Hermione fairly often, nowadays. "How is the study going?"

"We don't really know," Draco shrugged. "Ministry politics is rather convoluted, as you know. It might take a while, but Granger has high hopes that she can influence all the right people. And the people she can't influence, Smith can pester."

"Well," Harry smiled, "Cross fingers. So, how is your friend?"

"What friend?" Draco's grin was positively impish.

"The one you went to the ball with," Harry growled back, suddenly annoyed. He was being slightly manipulated, and Draco knew all too well how to play him for a fool. Harry could feel that sore spot ache. "You know, the Greengrass girl."

"Oh, _that_ one," Draco smiled wickedly. "_Ri-ight_. we live right next door to each other, and she's on the study too, but I'm sure you heard that from Granger. She went to Hogwarts. I've sort of known her my whole life. She's really lovely, and her father is on the Trade Commission in the Ministry. Anyway, she's in love with Smith."

"What?" Harry said, unsure if he had heard the last line.

"I said that she's in love with Zacharias Smith," Draco repeated, his face purposely blank. "Pity, he doesn't even know she's alive."

"Oh," Harry grinned, relieved. "Sad."

"So," Draco said, returning to his origami. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"According to the press," Harry began dryly, "Every witch I meet, just like before. But in actuality, no one. Did you _really_ believe the media when we were dating, Draco?"

"Partially," Harry could no longer see Draco's face through the curtain of soft, caramel brown hair. He wanted to reach out and touch it. But he no longer knew if a gesture like that would be welcome or not.

"It's hard, Harry," Draco pushed his hair behind his ears and adjusted his tie as if preparing for a row. "The press play on every insecurity you have, They played on yours with Algernon. And they played on mine with your mates."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, thinking about his friends and already feeling a tad defensive. Draco _had_ done them wrong, so that wasn't actually a lie. "I've defended you to my friends, Draco."

"Which didn't work," Draco shrugged. "And whenever you went out, you went out alone with them."

"You never wanted to come!" Harry countered.

"True," Draco admitted and Harry paused. Draco had never admitted _that_ before- he would just usually lay into his mates some more. "But you never invited them over to Grimmauld Place while I was there, either! And you never had a single party in three years while we dated. You left all of that up to Weasley and Granger, which made it all the more awkward, because it was in their home."

"Merlin," Harry shrugged. "What does it matter, really? There wasn't ever a row, was there?"

"No, just that first year," Draco glared back. "After that, everyone just waited for me to Disapparate. Or they went to the _Red Responders_ to get pissed before talking to me."

"Oh, like your aunt didn't think the same thing!" Harry scoffed. "She was _dying_ for me to hop on my broom and fly back to New York."

"Aunty would _never _insult you or drink in order to tolerate you," Draco looked livid at the insinuation. "She took care of me when I was ill; she loves me like I'm her own child!"

"Apparently- that's why she doesn't want you settled down," Harry huffed, crossing his arms. "She even told me so herself, though not in as many words."

"She's just probably worried that it could affect Teddy," Draco said, and Harry wondered how blind one person could be to the truth. Then he wondered if he himself was blinded to the same truth about his own family, the Weasleys.

"I don't want this all to affect Teddy," Harry agreed, because it seemed that on the topic of their friends and family they were, for the moment, stalled. "So what do we do? For the rest of our lives we are going to be seeing each other in some manner, Draco. We have to at least be cordial."

"Yes," Draco agreed, his voice strained. His lovely grey eyes darted about the room sadly, as if he needed something to anchor him in empty space. "Cordial."

"Yeah," Harry felt horrible. Another half-truth to mask dealing with a multitude of problems. Just like they had done before. If Harry left it like this, it would be just as they had been when Harry had visited Draco all those years ago while he had been teaching in London. Harry still remembered it like Pensieve liquid; trying to form a friendship with Draco, while he dated Algernon Bones. It would be another situation of awkward fumbles and subterfuge, but this time Draco would have been the one to make the first move.

"We _could_," Harry agreed, drawing out the words. He could feel all the courage and boldness that he had been lacking all this time returning to him at once. It had left him when Draco had gone, it seemed. No, it had left earlier than that- Draco had even brought it up during one of their rows. It seemed all of Harry's willingness to fight for them had left when Draco had stopped believing in their relationship.

Draco was chewing his bottom lip. His hair was pulled back from his face by his ears and his cheeks were slightly flushed. He looked nervous and beautiful and delicate and tired and maybe, underneath it all, scared. How had it gotten to this point? It was a damned mess. And they were fools.

"We could be cordial," Harry said, daring to touch Draco's shoulder. The skin trembled underneath his hand and he fancied that Draco was thinner than he once was. Or maybe it was just his imagination. "But I don't want to be cordial, Malfoy. I'm still in love with you. I'll always be in love with you."

"_Oh_," Draco said softly. His bottom lip was red and moist and inviting.

"_Oh_," He said again.

"You're in love with me, too," Harry growled. "Damn you. Why did you go?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted, his eyes closing for a brief moment before fluttering open again. The lashes were more golden than white. Had Harry ever noticed that before? "All we did was row, and then I got the job offer- and I really did think that you could come. But most of all I was - terrified. And bloody tired. Exhaustion makes people mad."

"You don't think I hate this?" Harry scoffed- did Draco think that he had the premium on self-misery or regret or upset? "You don't think that I was tired and hacked off and annoyed at myself?

"It's not a game, Harry," Draco shrugged, staring at the slips of torn parchment as if they had the answers to their broken relationship. "It's not _if you loved me you would have gone _versus _if you loved me you would have stayed._ It's just perspective. It's just the way that things are, aren't they?"

"Right," Harry sighed. It was true. Harry had done all he could to destroy their relationship. He had resented Draco, he had started arguments and blurted out things that he should have said when he was calmer. Harry _had_ put his friends first, and he had kept things from Draco that could have made a difference. He had even resented the last bit of dying embers of the flame of Draco's first love for Bones.

"I wanted to go to Darby with you," Harry said, sliding closer to Draco. Draco's hands clenched in the parchment, and the folded bits of paper fluttered uselessly. Still, he did not move away. Harry took that as a sign to move even closer. He was practically cradling Draco in his lap now. Draco took a deep, shuddering breath before wrapping an arm about Harry's waist lightly. It seemed as though Draco would move it away for the longest time, but then he held onto Harry's robes with a fierce grip that stunned Harry with it's strength and determination.

"But you didn't," Draco lifted a shoulder. Harry couldn't see his face. "And I left. Two wrongs lead down a bad alley, Potter."

_I wanted to marry you _Harry wanted to blurted out uselessly. An invisible weight shifted on his chest, back and forth, and his stomach heaved as though he was going to be sick with the secret of it all- _I wanted to ask you, a hundred times. In your old flat- here- in Marbella-_

Draco looked up. His face was as sharply seductive as ever; and his light eyes reflected the flames of the fire, only now they kept no secrets, and masked no resentments. Harry hadn't been so utterly captivated by him since the very early days of their relationship, when Harry used to sneak to see him for an hour or two in Kent in grubby inns or for a chat over a curry in Grimmauld.

"Draco," Harry began, seriously, "There's something I want to tell you-"

"I know," Draco said sympathetically, a smile twitching about the corners of his mouth. "But not here, I don't want a crick in my neck later."

"_Malfoy_!" Harry laughed. He could feel his face heat. "It wasn't about that!"

"What," Draco was dangerously near pouting. "You don't want to shag? I mean I suppose that I'd be dreadfully disappointed and all of that, but we could play a game of Gobstones. It _would_ redirect all of this tension."

"Draco," Harry was nose to nose with him now. He could smell Draco's soap now, and the detergent potion that he had used to wash his clothes. Something was different about the pairing. Maybe the soap was another brand, or the potion was. In any case the whole thing made Harry upset. Draco had _changed_. In the short time that they were apart, he had become slightly different. It was more than scones and utensils. Harry couldn't explain it, but it shook him.

"Draco," Harry repeated again. He tugged at him, probably too harshly, but Draco went into his lap all the same, straddling his knees. "_Gods_, Draco."

"I love you," Draco eyebrows creased for a moment, and then the stress faded. "It will be alright, Potter."

Harry kissed him, and he was lost.

Again.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: This chapter is so so late, and I know it. Sorry guys but I was busy with real life. Anyway I hope you enjoy it and that you are able to review and that you're enjoying your summer as much as I am. Someone asked if there would be a sequel to this sequel. I was actually thinking about that, but I have another idea for story floating around in my mind that I would rather explore. Plus what would happen in a third part? Kids? A divorce? Nahh. All of that would be waay too predictable._

* * *

Chapter 16:

Draco watched Harry sleep.

He was tangled in the white sheet, his leg hanging off the bed, much like Teddy's used to do when he was a toddler. His arm dangled too, loosely, as though reaching for an entity that wasn't there. Draco liked to believe that Harry was reaching for him, instead of the spare pillow that was just out of arm's length. Harry snuffled, and then his other leg- the leg that was beneath the sheet- twitched a little. Draco smiled at him, edging a tiny bit closer.

Harry needed a haircut, but not too much of one. And his mouth was open, and a bit lopsided, and he was drooling. Still he was perfect. Impossible, annoying, frustrating, but perfect. Draco couldn't help it- he smiled, rather stupidly.

Draco lifted his own hand, and traced the outline of Harry's profile, as through his finger was a quill hovering an inch above Harry's face. Harry really _was_ perfect. The magazines, the wireless, the press said it, but they didn't _see _it. Everything about the way his inky lashes lay over his cheeks, with the addition of the faint sunspots over his nose, and the line of his faultless square jaw. No _wonder_ all those gormless cows at Hogwarts had pasted pictures of him in their texts. No wonder people were still following him, as if he was a demigod. People didn't follow ugly heroes. If Longbottom had been chosen, the war would have been lost.

Or won

Draco winced.

Draco's hand was still so close to Harry's face. Even though they weren't touching, he could feel the heat of Harry's body reacting with the heat of his own. Could Harry feel the same thing? Could he- even in the depths of his dreams, somewhere? Was it some type of madness to believe that two people could be connected without a physical connection; through thought, and space and time-

"Draco-" Harry yawned, and his cheek brushed hotly against Draco's palm. The heat was overwhelming now, and Draco could feel it coursing through his skin and into his veins. "You're up early. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Draco shrugged away the thudding in his body- throughout his core, really. Instead, he slid down the bed until their naked bodies were side by side. "I just got into the habit of waking up early for school. I love you, Potter."

Harry's grin made his eyes gleam so bright that it reminded Draco of the lights that decorated Diagon Alley during Yuletide. "You never say that first."

"What utter shit," Draco laughed, although the truth in the statement ached. He _had_ taken advantage of Harry's emotional availability. Draco hadn't been raised to look at expressed emotions with suspicion, but he supposed that the war had certainly taught him that hideous mindset. "You know I never tell you I love you at _all._"

"What a troll you are," Harry laughed. He slid down and kissed Draco's shoulder softly, and then cupped curve. "You've got a mark there, Malfoy."

"Have I?" Draco repeated softly.

"Hmm," Harry hummed. He brushed back a bit of Draco's hair and kissed his skin again. Draco felt a spark, then. Something _real_, something tangible. He wanted to tell Harry that, but how could he? It sounded daft, and more than romantic. How could you tell someone that when they touched you, you _felt_ real life? It all seemed surreal. Harry brushed his calloused thumb against the spot, and that little stroke seemed to bring Draco back to Earth in a sense.

Draco turned to look at Harry. Harry smiled at him; beautiful and innocent and mischievous. Of _course_ Harry knew what he was doing to him- Harry had always loved the morning go's- the little exhibitionist. But then Harry looked away, his cheeks flushed as he lost their little contest.

"You're staring Malfoy," Harry declared in a huff, nudging his calf in between Draco's two legs. Draco smirked and then slid a little bit closer, until they were properly snuggled together.

"So?" Draco shrugged. "I like to admire my purchases."

"_Oy_!" Harry's bright green eyes lit up in indignation. _Perfect._ He really was amazing. "I'm not an object. _And_ I'm not yours, you know. If anyone is anyone's, you are mine, Malfoy."

"Am I?" Draco responded loftily. For added emphasis, he pinched Harry's nipple ruthlessly and then released it slowly and flicked the wound. Harry tried not to react, but he _did_ suck in a breath. _Aha_- Gryffindors were easily lead, especially in the bedroom. And especially when there was a promise of satisfaction after a long trial in the end.

"I don't think so," Draco murmured, his mouth very close to Harry's neck. As if in anticipation, the skin leapt a bit. Draco leaned forward again and laved the spot softly. Harry tasted of bed sheets, and shagging, and salt. It was good. It was more than good. Draco kissed the spot and then sucked at it in earnest. Above him, or about him, he could hear Harry let out a low moan.

"Lay back," Draco commanded. Harry stared at him for a moment, challengingly, before obeying. The look said _you'd better know I'm letting you do this Malfoy. And you'd__also better know you'd better know I have other plans for you later._

Now this was annoying. Draco had no idea where his wand was. They had been -erm- particularly creative last night. It might be here. It might also be in the en suite, or in the sitting room, or in the kitchen. If Harry would have had his way, Draco could have also had the chance to leave his wand in the guest bedroom. But there _was_ the possibility of having too much of a good thing.

Draco was just about to make an awkward exit from the bed to look for his wand when his hand hit in between the mattress and the bed's frame. Draco smirked confidently - it was his own wand, too.

Draco held up his wand. Harry looked beyond lovely. He had his hand behind his head, propping it up so that he could see Draco between his thighs, and the sun was making blue streaks in his hair that complimented his eyes. He really was beautiful- not in a breathtaking way, but in an ordinary, wonderful, intriguing sort of every day manner.

"You've got golden eyelashes," Harry mumbled faintly. Draco's lips twitched. This was supposed to be about Harry, and _his_ pleasure, and Harry was already finding ways to compliment him.

Draco cast the lubrication spell on his fingers. "How long have you known me and you just noticed that now?"

"I always _-ah_- have," Harry moaned as Draco touched around his thigh. He was in such good shape from running and flying all the time and Draco was so narrow and shut in from having children toss their quills at him all day. He'd never admit it aloud, but Harry made him feel a tiny bit like the moon absorbing the sun's rays.

"Shut it," Draco sighed, even though Harry wasn't even speaking- or even moaning. It was just too much of a good thing.

But Draco was sure he could make it that much better.

Draco tapped Harry's leg and with the hidden language of long-term lovers Harry spread his thighs a little wider. For some reason, though, this sent a little pang of sadness through Draco. If they wouldn't have reconciled, this would have been a dead tongue, a lost form of communication between two wizards who'd moved away from each other. Then in some distant, imagined future, Draco or Harry would have had to learn a whole different type of conversing with some other lover. It hadn't happened, but it almost had. And Draco was still angry with them for it.

_I love you_, Draco traced along the inside of Harry's thigh with his tongue, as his fingers entered Harry's body. He wanted to say more. He wanted to etch out every apology that he couldn't say onto Harry's body so that he could walk around with the mistake and they could own them together.

A hand gripped his hair and Draco looked up into Harry's face. Sometimes he was so ordinary that Draco forgot to note it, and sometimes he was so amazing that Draco forgot to breathe.

"Draco," Harry mumbled softly.

That was all the encouragement that Draco needed.

* * *

"You need to charm your toenails down," Draco shifted away from Harry.

Harry pulled him closer, even as Draco mock huffed. "I've gone to seed," Harry sighed grandly. "It's all because my boyfriend left me. I've sunk into the depths of despair."

Draco snorted. "You've also gone mad, too."

"I've always been mad," Harry shrugged away the little snide remark. He pulled Draco closer so that Draco's head rested on Harry's chest, which Draco allowed with the docile nature of one who had been well shagged. Harry sighed heavily, as Draco followed a small trail of sweat as it made its way down Harry's chest toward his navel. They were well and truly shagged out. They had reached they point in which physical arousal was probably impossible for the morning, if not the day. Harry was twirling a piece of Draco's hair around and around his finger, while he hummed. Draco could feel and hear the reverberations all along his skull. It was as if they were one large, amorous being that had been combined together through sex, sweat, and force.

"What do you want to do?" Draco asked. Harry was stroking one bum cheek, but it was without intention- more fondly than fondling.

"Shower," Harry yawned. "D'you want to get takeaway? I could eat Chinese. Or we could go see Ted."

That was like a bath of cold water without getting in the shower. Draco was supposed to go see Teddy today. Draco was supposed to go to see Teddy today with Astoria and he had _completely_ forgotten because he had spent the morning and evening before with Harry. Draco winced. It was one thing to get back together with Harry- which was a very good thing- but it was another thing to put at risk his relationship with his cousin and his aunt.

"I have to go feed my cat," Draco said. It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth, either.

Harry had gone as stiff as a _petrified_ pile of old wands. "Ah," he coughed. "Right. Forgot you had a cat. Funny. For a while, there, you had too."

_Ouch_. That almost literally hurt. But Draco deserved it.

"I was supposed to go to see Teddy today, myself," Draco said, speaking so fast that he was practically stumbling about the words on his tongue. "With Astoria. I told her that I was coming over here, but I never told her that I was spending the night. With you."

Harry was relaxing by his side, but it was only by slightly perceptible degrees. He had thought that Draco was going to do a runner. Actually, Draco didn't resent him at all for that. It was the exact, anticipated response to their entire relationship. Draco had run away from everything that they had built together, and he had done it more than once. But what was he supposed to do? His cousin was waiting for him- and you didn't tell a nine year old child that you were too busy shagging to come and see them. Now, either way, Draco was a git. Brilliant how that seemed to continually happen.

"I would say that _we_ should go together," Harry said, motioning to their chests. "But what about your wife, Malfoy?"

"You need a Healer," Draco snorted, twisting a bit of Harry's hair around his fingers. "That's how sick you are."

"I am not," Harry was pouting, though he'd never admit it.

"You are," Draco shrugged, knowing he was deliberately egging Harry on. But he was just so bloody relieved that Harry hadn't reacted poorly to the fact that Draco wanted to see Teddy with Tory. It _would_ have been nice for Harry to have tagged along with them to see Ted, but maybe that was wishing for too much too soon. And anyway, maybe Draco ought to have canceled his plans. It wasn't as if he ever missed a single chance to see his aunt and his cousin before.

Harry leapt up from the bed, and with a grand flourish, he draped the sheet around his shoulders like an open cloak. Draco couldn't help but chortle- it really did look _too_ ridiculous, especially as Harry was naked and his hair was more disorganized than what it usually was.

"Say that you'll miss me," Harry commanded grandly, with one hand over his eyes, as if he was spotting land from the prow of a ship. Draco laughed again before he realized that Harry was half-acting and half-squinting because he hadn't had the sense to _accio_ his glasses from somewhere about the bedding.

"Would the gentlewizard like his glasses?" Draco asked simperingly.

"No," Harry grinned back. He jumped back onto the bed, pushing Draco's shoulders down onto the mattress with just a little too much force. "Draco."

"Harry." Draco smiled back. Harry had _such_ green eyes. It was almost offensive in a way, because they stripped off the core of one's wand, so to speak.

"Will you miss me?" Harry sounded so young when he said it like that.

"Harry," Draco pulled him down. "I always miss you."

* * *

"Draco," Teddy huffed out, as his hair turned yellow. "Did you _see_?"

"Of course I did," Draco white-lied, putting down his magazine. "Are you going to jump again, or are you going to put the cushions away before your grandmother gets back?"

"Another jump, I reckon," Teddy grinned, his nose fluttering. "For good luck."

"He's so adorable," Tory said, by Draco's side. "He's got so much energy. Was he always like that?"

"Hmm," Draco smiled. "He was a good baby, though. You could sit him down in front of the wireless, and he'd stay for hours. He was fascinated by adverts- he would dance to all the jingles."

"Aw, what a good father you are, Pushy," Astoria grinned maliciously.

"Oh, piss off," Draco huffed. "Ted! If you break your neck I'm not taking you to St. Mungo's!"

Teddy abandoned his attempt to cartwheel over the pile of cushions and into the small tree in the garden. Now he was picking up the pillows and was attempting to create some sort of pyramid. Draco smiled at it. Teddy would need a spell to make the pile stick, but Draco knew that Teddy would hate the interference. He was like Harry in that sense- if they couldn't attempt it alone, then they didn't consider it a real success.

"So," Astoria drawled out. "Harry Potter."

"Yes," Draco clamped out. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. He had answered enough of her inquest when he'd come home to change and feed his cat. In fact, he'd answered more than he'd meant to say- Astoria could have another career in the bloody Aurors if she wanted it.

"Enough, Tory," Draco moaned. Teddy looked up at them and Draco forced a bland expression on his face.

"Need help?" he asked.

"No," Teddy growled out. "Can we get my tent out?"

"You know Aunty said no," Draco shrugged. He would have gotten it out anyway, but by now his aunt would be on her way back.

Teddy stuck out his tongue and returned to the pile. Draco ignored the cheek.

"So you spent the night," Astoria was bloody relentless. She was like a crup trailing after a criminal. "How was it?"

"Satisfactory," Draco glared at her until she blushed. "Or I wouldn't have stayed."

"Hmm," Astoria agreed, the shameless hussy. "So you obviously must have sorted everything out, then. Why didn't he come today? Does he have work? Or is he busy?"

Draco stiffened. They had _not_ sorted everything out. It had felt like that when Draco had left Grimmauld Place, but it was not real. Draco and Harry's relationship only seemed to exist in a bubble. A bubble of there own making, in fact. The real world seemed to rub up against it, and the friction made the bubble so fragile that over time it exploded. And then they were nothing, nothing at all. Did Harry see it? He _must_. Draco stared at his hands. There was nothing there. Had he gone to Grimmauld Place to chase after a fantasy of their own creation? Was he mad? Or could what they have actually be salvaged?

"Let's get out my old brooms," Draco said, forcing on a smile. "Ted! Do you want to have a race?"


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Hey guys- sorry this chapter is late, but I got the opportunity to go away on vacation for a bit so I grabbed it with both hands and so I didn't post this story for a bit because I didn't have my computer. I hope everyone likes this chapter and pretty much from now on things will be positive for Harry and Draco. Well, as positive as it can be. Reviews are wonderful and thanks again guys._

* * *

Chapter 17:

"Does it look alright?" Hermione asked worriedly, holding up a white square of cloth. "The ivory?"

Harry stared at the cloth, trying to school his features into something between _appropriate concern_ and _wonder and interest._ But he was sure it had all fallen flat. It was about the tenth napkin that Hermione had shown him, and all of the whites, beiges, ecrus and tans had combined in his mind to form one dull hue. Why was Harry here, anyway? He was meant to be the best man, not a bridesmaid. Why wasn't Luna or Hannah here, instead? All Harry had wanted control of was the stag night, and most of his plans had been co-opted by George for larger schemes.

"It's very nice," Harry said, fingering the fabric. It _was_- it slipped through his fingers in an odd way that reminded Harry of Draco's hair when they had been- But Harry forced himself not to think about that. This was most definitely not the right time.

"It's soft," Harry coughed out, as he felt his face heat. He was lacking in self control. That was the only way that Harry could rationalize what was going on in his mind to himself. He had fire-called Draco three times in a row last night and then when Draco had returned his Floo, his hair wet from a shower, they had spent the next hour and a half talking about absolutely nothing. Harry hadn't felt this way since he was sixteen. Even the first Draco wasn't as good as this Draco.

It was as if that had been a mirage and this was the real thing.

That felt profound.

"I do think the beige, don't you?" Hermione was holding the napkin so tightly that she could really snap it in two. Harry grinned mentally- he could see Hermione taking the scraps of fabric to Ron's desk at work and clenching out _see what you made me do?_ A hormonal, pregnant bride was a potion steadily brewing toward disaster. Ron was going to get worse than birds, this time.

"You're not listening," Hermione sighed. "I should have brought you along for the cake tasting. _That_ you would have enjoyed."

"I'm not Ron!" Harry protested, although he _was_ hungry. Hermione was keeping him warded in this room until she came to a decision on the final touches for the wedding. Harry felt increasingly like one of his suspects. He wanted his fire-call. He wanted to know his rights as a magical being. "I've not got a stomach as large as an Ever-Expanding Tent!"

"Yes you do," Hermione teased back. But then she sighed. "I think I want the ivory."

"So get both," Harry didn't see the problem.

Hermione stared at him as though he was simple.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"Hermione," Harry finally said in a voice approximating a whine. "Just buy both and decide on the day of."

Hermione made that simple face again. "Harry," she glared. "I'll have my hair to do, everyone's makeup to oversee, my dress, the girls' dresses, and Ron to worry about. Never mind worrying about you, and if George isn't pranking my family or telling them lies. I can't make these decisions rashly. Everything has to be planned accordingly and be set on a schedule. I can't worry about nonsense. Do you understand?"

Ah, it really _was_ like being sixteen. He had someone bossing him aroun, and Harry feeling pressured; Ron was off eating somewhere, and Harry being sure that he ought to chase after Malfoy instead of sitting about. Bloody Draco and sodding Ron. Why was Harry the only person in this room, anyway?

"I like the sandy color," Harry declared, feeling as though offering an opinion would speed along Hermione's process. "It's-romantic."

Hermione smiled at the napkin. She looked- _glowing._ Over a napkin. Bless her.

"Yes," she said softly. "It has sort of a shine. Look over it."

Harry stood up like the willing mate he was to look over the fabric napkin. It _was_ nice, and Harry did like it best out of the bunch. He made an appropriate noise in his throat- approving- but not so approving that it didn't leave space for another, better option to be found somewhere down the alley.

Hermione sighed. _No_- she was breathing in.

"Your jacket," Hermione declared evenly. "It smells of smoke."

Harry felt himself still. The reason it smelled of smoke was because Draco had worn it for a bit when he had been over Grimmauld Place. He had felt cold, and Harry had draped it over his shoulders. And wherever Draco went, fags weren't far behind.

"Does it?" Harry asked, his voice sounding unnaturally low. "I wore it on rounds with your fiancé. We must have been casting hexes."

"No," Hermione narrowed her eyes as Harry went back to sitting down next to her. "It doesn't smell like that. It smells like cigarettes. Like cigarettes and _incendios._ What's been going on, Harry?"

Harry didn't really want to talk about it. Not while Hermione was shopping for the last bloody bits for her wedding to Ron. It just didn't feel _right_. No matter how optimistic Harry felt about everything, it didn't feel right to talk about it yet. But then again, Harry and Draco had kept everything a secret in the first place and it had blown up in their faces. Catastrophically so. Suddenly Harry wished he had a night to sleep on it before telling Hermione.

"Am I going to have to put Malfoy on one end of the tents," Hermione asked, "And everyone else on the other? Or should I not invite him at all?"

"Don't worry about me," Harry sighed, feeling as though Hermione had been preoccupied with him instead of planning her day. "_Please_. Draco and I are . . . Working on things. Not rowing. Taking it slow."

"I reckon I've got the idea," Hermione laughed. "Somehow I feel sorry for asking. I really do think I'll take the ivory."

Harry did _not_ roll his eyes.

* * *

"I'm going to be sick," Ron said, his face twisting into something that looked as though it would need a pressing charm to get out. "Oh _gods,_ I think I'm going to be sick- what if she doesn't come down the aisle? What if she's just been having me on this whole time? What will I do then, Bill- I don't know, that's what! Who'll explain to Mum that her youngest son isn't going to be married because _Hermione left me_!"

Bill carefully pulled Ron's hands from around his throat and gently tugged at his collar. He turned to Charlie who waved him off as though to say _don't look at me I'm the gay brother, remember_? George bent down and poked at Ron's side as though examining some sort of exotic wildlife which was endlessly fascinating but which could snap up and bite at any moment.

"Hey, don't worry little bro," George said amiably. "You've got the baby in there as the world's cleverest contingency plan- wish I'd thought of that with Angie. If Hermione still turns out to be a runner, we can just auction Harry off to the highest bidder for one night and that should take care of the wedding costs."

"Har, har," Harry said, crossing his arms. "Are you really going to be sick, Ron? You know that Hermione isn't going to leave you mate- she's been giving you the eye since the days of Lavender, for Merlin's sake."

Ron gave a watery smile. "My brain knows that, Harry," Ron said, gesturing to his heart. "But, my chest- it's -"

A knock came on the door and Ginny appeared. She was dressed in her blue and gold bridesmaid's robes which looked a bit funny on her as she was heavily pregnant with her second child with her husband, Theo Nott. She rapped her nails on the doorway and sighed. Bill stared back but Ginny didn't cower, instead, she put her hands on her hips and glared.

"It was either Mum or me, so be glad it wasn't Mum," Ginny said. "The bride's been ready these last fifteen- is Ron _actually_ having Hermione's cold feet?"

"And if he is?" Harry glared, crossing his arms- ever since his own breakup with Ginny, and her own subsequent marriage to Nott on the shoddiest of reasoning, Harry had found less and less to like about Ginny; especially since she seemed to think herself a bit too good for her family, but not too good to use their name to secure herself a rich husband with less than stellar morals.

"It's fine, Harry," Ron said, rising from the seat he had sunk into after Bill had undone Ron's chokehold from his neck. "I've got to go on anyway. I'm ready."

"You sure?" Bill said with such brilliant concern that it really made Harry wish that he had an older brother. Or a few actually- but then again he did have the Weasleys through thick and thin.

Ron took a deep breath and gave Harry a shaky smile. "Good luck, mate," Harry smiled.

Ron and Hermione's wedding was beautiful. Hermione looked like a goddess- she could never look like a princess- not with that hair and those curves and that deep intellect shining through her brown eyes. Her robes fit her loosely, concealing the little bump that was just beginning to show, and the gown fanned out behind her into a white, wide mermaid train.

It was nice to see all the girls from school there once more- Fleur and her daughter Victoire as flower girl, and Ginny as stubborn as ever and trying to outdo the bride by wearing diamond chandelier earrings and heels that made her taller than Hermione. Then there was Luna, who had come home from her yogic studies in India, and had walked down the aisle barefoot beside Harry ("Because it _grounds _me, Harry.") with a lily tucked behind her ear that she gave to Harry. Harry had missed her.

The vows went by so fast. Harry had expected them to take longer- and he hadn't fumbled his bit, he had been terrified that would forget when to hand over the rings or that they would disappear somehow if he stashed them in the same pocket as his wand. But it all worked out. It had been lovely- Ron got a bit red behind the ears, and Hermione looked as though she would cry twice but she didn't- instead she kept looking down and shaking her head and then looking up to beam at Ron.

Someone sniffled throughout the whole wedding though- Mrs. Weasley, who had successfully seen all but one of her children married and would not be satisfied until she found someone for Charlie and she saw Harry properly sorted; one way, or the other.

Harry was now getting steadily pissed at the reception which was being held on the Weasley's extensive back garden- in charmed white tents covered in blinking golden fairy lights. Hermione had found a big band that was familiar with both Muggle and wizarding classics so that everyone including her parents and childhood mates could feel as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances.

Oh, _gods. _Draco had arrived.

Draco was here and he was standing and talking to Hermione and the front table and he looked absolutely lovely. He was wearing steel grey dress robes and they were tightly fit, snug to his body, fitted to every curve and leaving very, very little to the imagination. Harry had avoided thinking of Draco all day during the wedding, avoided comparing this day to the dreams that he had had for himself and Draco when they had just gotten together because it would have hurt desperately to go there for just one second mentally. Besides, his friends had needed him and Harry hadn't wanted to play _what ifs _while Ron had a crisis or Hermione needed Harry to go do an errand- it wasn't fair.

But gods, Draco was beautiful- pale with just the tinge of pink from being out of doors and for the briefest moment Harry wondered where he had gone and with whom, though he technically hadn't any right to know. His hair wasn't pushed back behind his ears, and when he moved his head it gave a bit of a _swish_ that was really very grand-

"Oh, are you still on that?" Ginny said, cutting in front of Harry's prime Draco-viewing space. Harry tried to see around her, but with the heels it was impossible.

"I've no idea what you mean," Harry said evenly, grinning and bearing it for Ron and Hermione's sake. "If you'll excuse me-"

"He came with Tory Greengrass," Ginny taunted, gesturing to the witch Harry already knew to be Astoria Greengrass, a slim blonde in aqua robes with long hair. From behind Astoria was nearly flawless- and even when one saw her face, she was still a remarkably handsome woman.

Harry glared at Ginny. "What _happened _to you?" She was virtually unrecognizable from the young girl who had vowed to wait for him until the war had ended.

"Don't you know Harry," Ginny smirked viciously, and then something rather sad and weak appeared in her eyes. "_You_ happened to me."

With that she stomped away.

Harry reached for another drink off of the levitating tray that circled the room. It felt as though it was going to be a long night. Everyone was having a good time-George was lining people up to do the _Snogboard Snuffle_ across the dance floor and even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were joining in, their hands on each other's hips like they were newlyweds. On another corner Bill was showing the children rainbow colored bubbles that he charmed from his wand, and Teddy, Molly, Victoire and Fred were all trying to outdo each other in how quickly they could pop them. On one table, that git Smith was saying some pompous rot to Luna, and she kept tossing petals from Hermione's bouquet into the air and onto his hair. Harry thought that was the best use of a caught bouquet he had ever seen.

Draco was in the corner of the room talking very intensely to the Greengrass girl. She kept putting her hands on his shoulder but he didn't move away, instead all he did was _nod_. Harry swallowed down his drink with a gulp and glared. He was really too sober for this- especially at his best mates' wedding.

Finally Astoria Greengrass seemed to come to some sort of decision because she stopped touching Draco and stalked off to the table where Luna and Smith were sitting- one scowling, the other tapping her foot to the beat.

Harry reached for another champagne from the floating tray but it was snatched from his hands. Draco took it and drank a sip. Harry stared up at him, stunned. It was so unlike Draco- and yet so bloody like Draco to do something like that. Harry had no idea what to even say.

"Mind if I take a seat?" Draco stated, and then sat down before Harry could answer.

"Er-" Harry said lamely. Then he breathed in and took the champagne back and took a sip. He hadn't know what game Draco was playing. They hadn't even spoken to each other today. The last thing they had said was that they would see each other at the wedding. They said _I love you_ every night, but they hadn't touched, snogged, or shagged since that weekend. To say that Harry was confused now would be an understatement. They were charming a fine line.

"How's work?" Harry asked stupidly. Draco was very pretty, but Harry was sure that he didn't want to hear that.

"Busy," Draco said, folding a napkin into the beginnings of an origami shape- Harry recognized it as one of Draco's nervous tics. "Trying to keep my mind off of a load of things, I'm sure you know how it is."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Harry asked, staring at the top of Draco's bent head- the roots of his white-blond hair was just beginning to grow in.

"You didn't Floo me yesterday," Draco _did_ look annoyed then.

"I'm sorry Malfoy," Harry almost laughed. _He wants you to Floo him everyday._ Harry could sing. "You could have fire-called me yourself, you know. Why didn't you, anyway?"

Draco shook his head. He pushed this fingers along the tablecloth until they nudged along and tapped Harry's. Harry smiled. He had forgotten the way that Draco would do that. It reminded him of the way that stubborn plants in Herbology would seek the sun's rays. Harry turned his hand palm upward, and the tips of Draco's fingers curled along and tucked into his palm.

"I just wanted you to come and stay with me," Draco whispered, and Harry could barely catch the words over the trumpet in the band. "I didn't want to do anything, Potter. I just wanted a cuddle. _Merlin_- having to beg a cuddle off of my boyfriend."

_Boyfriend._

"I love you," Harry said softly. "Do you want to dance?"

"No, this music is shit," Draco said cheekily, but then amended. "I'm spending the night at yours, I hope you know. Go get me a drink."

"You didn't say you loved me back," Harry frowned.

"I'm not drunk enough yet," Draco whispered back, practically tossing his limbs into Harry's lap in a gorgeous, warm, heap. _Yes-_ he was most definitely pissed.

"You are so," Harry mumbled, stroking Draco's thumb in a rhythmic motion that was most definitely suggestive. Draco's eyes flooded with black until they were only grey in a thin little rim. "Your hair is almost in your mouth. I can't kiss you like that."

"What? Pissed?" Draco shook his hair back from his face. "Or here?"

Harry blinked twice, and suddenly he could hear the roar of the big band, the clamber of his friends and his family, and the laughter of Teddy and all of the Weasley children as they played underfoot. Draco was being very _public_ with him. Some of it was Dutch courage, but it was still occurring. They had never been like this before, pissed or not. Anytime they had ever gone to the Weasleys, or to Ron and Hermione's; Harry had always socialized with his mates and Draco had seemed to disappear into a corner, scowling.

Harry flushed. Suddenly he felt miserable about all of that, again. Even if he wasn't repeating the past.

Draco leaned over the last bit of space and kissed him. It was just a light peck, and Harry was too stunned to make it into a full-on snog, but it accomplished it's goal. The last bit of world seemed to fade away for a millisecond. Draco's warmth seemed to become an unbearable heat that Harry needed to share. And it was surrounded by everyone that Harry knew, loved, and cared about other than Draco himself.

Harry pulled away. Draco stared at him softly for a moment.

"See," he whispered. "I love you, too."


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: Ahh- I dunno why it took me so long to get this chapter out! I can't even blame writer's block because I had it mostly done for a week now. Shame on me, and all of that. I was just talking to a fellow fanfic writer about how the allure sometimes goes out of a fic when you solve the ending, and you have the general idea for the next story. Sigh, sigh. I really do want to write this next fic too, because I haven't done a Teddy-centric story but it will have to wait until this fic is all done. So sorry again guys. And please do review. I really want to keep on track with this fic._

* * *

Chapter 18:

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder.

He moved away from the light, toward the shadow and into the duvet, even though it was far too hot for a quilt.

The hand rubbed his shoulder again, and Draco shifted slightly. His head _ached_. He had drunk too much- enough for a hangover, but not enough to make himself forget the fact that he had sat down at Weasley and Granger's wedding and snogged Harry Potter in front of all of their guests. Had anyone seen? Draco hadn't the slightest idea. He supposed not. The table that Harry had chosen or had been assigned had been a bit secluded from the others- at an odd angle from the dance floor, the type of placement that no one would purposely give a favored guest. Draco could see Harry choosing the seat for himself. Especially if he was in a mood about his complicated relationship.

The hand was persistent. Draco moaned.

"It's tea," Harry sing-songed. How was it that _he_ wasn't hung over? Had he taken a potion already? Draco couldn't take shop-brought remedies with his _Lithia_ water, and he was quite sure that the Apothecary by Grimmauld was closed this early. Who was brewing Harry's potions these days, anyway? Draco remembered the days when he used to do it. For some odd reason he felt upset about that situation, even though it was rather ridiculous.

"Do you have water, instead?" Draco compromised. He wasn't even going to open his eyes for another half-hour. In fact, he was going to shower with them shut. He knew where all his bits were. There was no need to reacquaint himself with them this morning.

Wait. How _had_ he gotten to Grimmauld Place, anyway?

Never mind. Draco didn't need to know. There were times in even an educator's life when remaining in ignorance was probably the best path to take.

"I can get it," Harry said slowly. "You look sort of darling, burrowed in like that. Do you want something to eat?"

"Never again," Draco shuddered. "And don't you ever use the verb _burrow_ and my name together in the same sentence, Potter."

Harry laughed. Draco couldn't help but smile softly, underneath the mountains of sheets, where his body met the bare mattress. How had the mattress gotten stripped, anyway? Draco had absolutely no clue. He hadn't drank that much, he was sure of it. He had gone into the Weasleys wedding with the idea that he wasn't going to get pissed because he wasn't sure what could become of his corpse if Tory left his side for too long. But then again, he might have drank a _bit_ too much in order to have gotten up the nerve to snog Harry in public, even if it was in that dank little corner. Slytherins weren't very courageous by nature.

A hand touched his side."Sit up so that you can drink it," Harry said. He was dressed in his Auror-red tracksuit and his dark hair was slick back from the shower. In a series of flashes, memories flooded back into Draco's mind. In his mind's eye there was a hand on his bare, sweaty thigh, a mouth on his shoulder. Draco even recalled biting down onto sheets twisted and forced into his mouth to muffle his screams. They had _definitely _shagged last night.

Draco flushed.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He was barely hiding a smirk. Damn him. "Had a nice time last night?"

"I've had better," Draco took the glass of water and swallowed it quickly. It helped the situation- he knew enough to know that he was dehydrated, even though neither of them were Healers. "My head is pounding worse than the stands at a Quidditch match."

"Poor little Malfoy," Harry murmured, brushing the strands of Draco's sweat moistened hair behind his ears. Despite the fact that Draco felt utterly filthy and unwell, Harry still managed to make him feel somewhat spoiled.

Draco rested his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry really was too good. Even when they fought and they were miserable to each other, there was something so noble, so dignified about Harry. Draco felt a bit ashamed of himself now, and he wasn't even sure why anymore. He had apologized about the past, and everyone had a bit too much to drink every now and again. But there was still a bubble of guilt, floating somewhere in his intestines, making him feel ill at ease with himself. Harry _had_ always been the one to _reparo_ things before. And this one time that Draco had done it hadn't even begun to mend all of their issues.

"I ought to cut my hair," Draco said, just to say something.

"Do it and I'll leave you," Harry mumbled, tugging a strand. "It looks good, Draco. I like it better."

"You just like having something to mock me about," Draco yawned, tracing the stitched-on characters on Harry's pant leg. Harry looked _so_ good in his tracksuit bottoms. It was too unfortunate that Draco was hung over. Morning shags were the best thing in the world besides stealing bacon off Harry's plate.

"I just like having something to grab onto," Harry tugged a strand of Draco's hair.

"_Ah_," Draco hissed, opening one eye viciously. "Bastard."

"My parents were married when I was born," Harry sing-songed.

"I'd say something about your best mates' situation," Draco sighed back into the mountain of sheets, "But I'm too ill to be deliberately foul. I need a shower"

"I'll slide you along?" Harry asked. Draco opened his one eye again. Harry's glasses were making his green eyes glint in the early afternoon light. He looked mischievous and beautiful, and he had a tan line along where the edge of the left eyeglass rim met his cheekbone when he smirked. His face said _Malfoy, you are lazy and spoilt and I want to do something vicious to you but I'm too much of a Gryffindor to try._

"Please," Draco sighed dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillows. Now he wasn't sure where the hang over began and his ego ended, but he was enjoying having all of Harry's attention once more. "Don't tug my arm _too_ hard, Potter."

"Are you _honestly_ going to make me slide you along when you could walk the distance of the hall?" Harry sounded baffled. Draco opened his eyes. So much for a free ride in Knockturn, as they said. Draco prepared to stand up, feeling miserable as he did.

"Oh don't bother," Harry muttered. "Give me your arm. Fucking spoilt shit."

"I love you, Harry Potter," Draco beamed. Then he felt something twinge through his chest. Was he _actually_ going to be ill? Merlin, how embarrassing. No, it wasn't that- it was a wave of some emotion. It was so strong, though, that Draco literally felt as though he was going to have a physical reaction in order to be able to cope with it. Draco felt as though he was on the cusp of naming his feeling when Harry spoke again.

"Piss off," Harry grumbled.

"Harry-" Draco let go of his arm. He felt weak. _Strange._

"What?" Harry looked worried. Worse and worse. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Draco smiled, wondering if his face looked like the melted candle it felt like. Then he pushed himself off the bed so quickly that he _did_ feel sick. "I'm fine. I'll just walk."

* * *

"Have another cigarette," Tory frowned, lifting up her chin. "And then look at this spot. Isn't it awful! And tomorrow is Monday!"

Draco knew that the only reason that Astoria cared about the fact that Monday followed Sunday was because Smith usually came by on Mondays, even if they weren't editing the study. Smith was the sort of cold you had to go to a very good Healer to be rid of, and Draco had the sneaking suspicion that Astoria Greengrass wasn't going to Heal them of this particular aliment.

"Nick something from work and clear your own horrible complexion," Draco drawled, twirling the unlit cigarette back and forth from his index finger to his middle one. Draco was half-listening to Astoria, and half-not. Really, though, he was still thinking about what he had felt for that brief moment before going into the shower at Grimmauld Place. Draco still couldn't quite place it into words, and normally he felt a tad more self aware. He didn't know what it was, honestly. Had it been because he hadn't taken his morning dose of _Lithia_ water in the afternoon? Had it been part of the hangover-

"Ow," Draco hissed. She'd _struck_ him. Astoria had _actually_ hit him about the head- and she knew that he was hung over, too!

"I've been talking _at_ you for the last ten minutes, Pushy," Tory frowned. "At least have the courtesy to pretend as if you are listening."

"Yes, darling," Draco rested his hand under his chin. "Now tell me all about your terrible day at work. Don't leave out a single, tedious detail."

Tory lifted up her hand again and Draco flinched, though she didn't smack his head again. "Git. What's the matter with you, anyway? Is it something to do with Harry Potter? Does he hate me?"

"Why would he hate you?" Draco was baffled as he lit his cigarette and sank back into a cloud of nicotine. "And why would this be about you, anyway? You're so egotistical, just like all Slytherins."

"Because," Tory wasn't smiling at his little joke- in fact, she looked really uncertain of herself. "He didn't talk to me at _all_ at the wedding. I know that he had duties to attend to, but I was right there when you went up to him . . . "

_Ah_. Tory thought that Harry thought that something had _actually_ happened between Draco and Tory when Harry and Draco hadn't been together. Draco went to laugh, but he choked on a bit of smoke instead. It was probably karma for laughing at his best mate. That or the fact that there were two Slytherins destroying their lungs within inches of each other.

"Idiot," Draco smiled. "Spotty wench. He wasn't thinking about you at _all_ when I left him."

"Hmm," Astoria grinned, "I bet you wished you could have said that to Ginny Nott back at Hogwarts. So what's wrong, then? I thought I fed Allison so that you could have a night in Harry Potter's vault."

"Charming," Draco sneered at Tory's vulgarity. "Imagine if your father could hear you now . . ."

"_Pushy-_"

"Alright, alright," Draco put up a hand. "The problem is that I don't know what the problem is."

"Profound," Astoria responded dryly and Draco stared at her, amazed. It seemed that Draco was going to get all of the grief that should have been spelled out to Smith in a very curt owl. "Oh- don't stare at me like that. What's wrong?"

"I almost don't want to tell you," Draco sighed. He _could_ save it for Cho, but she was in London, and now the more he thought about the tale, the more foolish it was becoming. Besides, Cho wouldn't treat it with the same _gravitas_ that Tory would. Cho would tell him to get pissed again and have another shag, which would alternatively solve his problem and destroy his chances of understanding the issue.

"Bollocks," Tory huffed. "Out with it. How was last night?"

Draco was going to end up in the hospital for smoke inhalation. "You _can't_ ask me things like that, Astoria!"

"Fine," Tory grumbled. "I bet you can't remember anyway, you could barely stand without assistance."

Draco wasn't going to dignify the truth with an answer. "When I was leaving Grimmauld, I had the oddest sensation. I didn't quite understand what it was, but it felt bloody serious. I don't know. I suppose it had something to do with the drink. Weasley ought to have turned his knuts into galleons and spent a bit more money on the wine. I woke up with a thrumming headache."

"I liked the drinks I had," Tory's mouth twitched. "But unlike you, I didn't chase everything with a shot of firewhisky."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Astoria," Draco responded airily. "I only wanted your advice. Gods above."

"_Soo_," Astoria looked at Draco carefully. "When you were leaving Grimmauld Place, you had a feeling that was very profound."

"Yes," Draco said irritably. He was beginning to wonder if he had hit Astoria with a Repetitive Jinx. "That's what I said."

"You had a _profound_ feeling when you left Harry Potter," Tory said, leaning over and placing a hand on Draco's knee. Draco stared at her, just a tad bit worried. He wasn't exactly sure if she had been drinking before he had gotten home, or if she had been concussed. Draco clucked his tongue- his mother always said growing up that drinking alone was the first sign that a pureblood was going mad.

"That's what I said," Draco said gently, patting Astoria's hand. Poor thing. Smith had driven her to this. Draco would have to use the Dark Arts for his revenge, and he had given them up. Pity.

"Idiot," Tory dug her nails into his hand and Draco yelped. "I'm not mad!"

"I never said you were!" Draco cried. "Heal me! I'm _maimed_!"

"Draco," Astoria sighed as she removed the half-moon marks from the back of his palm with a Healer's precision. "When you were leaving Harry, you felt emotional. Think about it. Surely you're not so hung over that you're missing the correlation?"

"Of course I'll miss Harry," Draco muttered dismissively, as he flexed his hand and glared at his friend. "I always miss him. But it was something more this time."

It was something _more_ this time. That was it, wasn't it? Draco couldn't quite put it into words. It was _more._ But more of what? It wasn't more _love_, was it? Draco didn't think that it was quite possible to love Harry any more than he had at the start of their relationship, when everything had been new and exciting, and even the dankest loo had been a seductive den. But that wasn't love, was it? It was something feral and simplistic, and basic, and that had evolved into love. So if that had been love, it had been love from the lowest order. And of course, Draco had stolen that love, as well. He had taken it in sips and hidden glances, and from other people.

He had lied for it. And they had both hidden it, so it had been love stolen from others. It had been time Draco had taken from work, or from Teddy, or from his aunt, or from Susan. It had been time he had taken from Cho. It had been time from Algernon.

Now it wasn't. Now it felt empowering, not guilty. Now when he saw Harry, he saw _Harry_, not his own self-torment, and not a scrawny little boy in Hogwarts robes. And he didn't want to leave him. When he was with Harry before, he couldn't help but think of all the things he had done wrong to get to Harry, but now all he could think of was how he had to get back home _to_ Harry.

Draco put a hand on his chest. Something _hurt, _but the pain felt distant and wonderful and _real._

"I have to go," Draco stood up so quickly that he felt dizzy. "I have to go see Harry."

"Draco," Astoria frowned. "It's eleven, he might be in bed by now."

That stopped Draco for a moment. "Well," he declared, frowning at his hair in the glass above his Floo. It was _matted._ How disappointing. If Teddy had seen that he would have copied it all day long just to make fun of him. "Well, he'll just have to get up."

* * *

Harry was asleep. There was only one dim candle lighting the whole sitting room, and the wireless was on, tuned to itself, playing static into the great space. Draco's eyes found Harry easily- he was cuddled up with a blanket that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him; it was all bright colors that should have never been seen together, tangled and woven into a bizarre basket weave. Even though it was hideous, and scratchy, Harry loved it; probably because of who had given it to him, but also because the blanket was so large, due to the charms Mother Weasel had woven into it. It made even the largest giant look practically invisible underneath it. Under it, and in this light, Harry looked so small.

And so capable of being hurt. Draco's hand flittered to his chest, involuntarily. That same strange, awful, sickly feeling overcame him once more. He needed a cigarette. In fact, he needed a whole case of them.

Harry shifted under the blanket and it came away, falling to the ground. The difference in temperature must have been enough to rouse him, because his eyes opened right on Draco's.

"Hey," Harry smiled hazily. "I was dreaming about you. And now you're here. Did you forget something?"

"No," Draco crouched down. "But you forgot to turn off the wireless again. What did you dream about?"

Suddenly Harry had a wall up. Draco bit his lip. That new, overarching emotion also made him loathe every barrier, when before he had feared breaching any of them, because talk of them would lead to a massive row.

"I had a dream that you had moved back," Harry smiled uncertainly, as if he was willing to laugh away his desire in a second in order to make Draco feel comfortable. _That_ hurt too. "You were trying to bake something in the kitchens, and it was burning."

Draco snorted, scuffing his shoe into the grooves of the old wooden slabs of flooring. There was an odd, uncomfortable pause that lasted far too long before anyone spoke again.

"Harry, I-" Draco began, gathering his courage.

"Draco, why did you-" Harry started to ask.

They both laughed. Harry sat upright and moved aside, giving Draco enough space to sit beside him. Draco took the space, which was rather warm and cozy, and smiled across at his lover. He felt fifteen again. He hadn't felt this way since he had ordered pansies sent to the Parkinson estate before the war broke out. It was a very odd, tenuous, lovely feeling.

"Draco," Harry shifted across the sofa and knocked his side. "Is something wrong? Is it something to do with what happened at the wedding?"

"No," Draco shifted closer. "Harry, remember when I wanted you to move with me to Darby?"

A muscle was working on the inside of Harry's jaw now. It was clear that he didn't want to think about the past; especially one decision that had had so many unforeseen consequences. "Yeah," Harry finally replied, "But-"

"I was," Draco took a deep breath, "Wrong. I should have stayed. I think. Or rather, I wish I was here, now. I want to be here. With you. All the time."

Draco was very aware that he wasn't talking in complete sentences. He was also aware that Harry wasn't saying a thing. Instead, Harry was staring at Mother Weasel's discarded blanket on the floor. Draco _loathed_ that blanket. If he could, he would set it on a merry _incendio_.

Harry tugged Draco's hand and Draco turned to look at him. Harry was smiling, but only faintly, with the edges of his lips. It was if a ghost had amused him.

"You signed a contract," Harry sighed. "You should stay."

Draco wasn't sure if Harry was trying to convince Draco or himself. "I did," Draco admitted, "But I can't be all things to all people. I can't do the study and teach and be here _and_ give extra lessons. I can't cast _duplicato_ on myself. Something will give, anyway."

"I don't want to influence you," Harry was staring ahead, but Draco knew him all too well. He was fighting himself. And losing. "I don't want you to regret whatever you do."

"You don't want me to blame you," Draco added wryly. "You're more Slytherin than you give yourself credit for."

Harry spun about at that. They stared at each other, waiting. In a swift decision, Draco made the first move, shifting his leg over Harry's lap, and in another breath, he slid his other leg over and straddled Harry completely.

"Don't taunt me, Draco," Harry hissed against his lips, twisting a strand of hair tighter and tighter until it was so taunt that it hurt Draco's skull. "Don't play games."

"I want to stay," Draco shifted against him. Harry held his hair so tightly that Draco couldn't move close enough to press their lips together for a kiss. Instead, their air mingled in a slick, aching haze. "Tell me to go home, if you don't want me here."

Harry didn't say a thing.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Hey everyone- I'm trying to get back into the swing of updating this story weekly- the habit I fell out of when things got really hectic for me recently. I wrote most of this story so long ago that it feels like a dream but the end is pretty much in sight now (a happy one) and there is very little drama left (so if you want drama I guess you'll have to wait for another story or check out all the other great writers around here). All of your reviews really do keep me motivated as well and I have to thank Sharon T and lizziemarie for their great reviews they were so so sweet. _

_If you have time please drop a review, and enjoy._

* * *

Chapter 19:

Harry had been shocked when Draco had given up his position teaching at the Darby school to come back to London. He had been so sure that Draco had loved his position, especially since he was teaching and in control of a study that could shape their world- two things that Harry could completely see Draco being drawn to. Draco had also always complained of the press in London following him, which Harry was sure they would do again, especially since Draco was hanging about with a what they considered a _smart set_- Hermione, that git Smith, who everyone thought was some type of philosopher but Harry found extremely annoying, and Greengrass with her long blonde hair, and her piles of gold in Gringotts from her wealthy father.

Harry wasn't sure if Draco was simply betting on the fact that the study that he had masterminded with Astoria Greengrass would take off, and help people while making them well known researchers; or if he had truly changed his mind about the atmosphere down south. In any case, Draco had moved, and as soon as Hermione and Ron got home from their honeymoon in Australia, the Owl would take his Newts as the saying went.

Today, though, Harry had decided to spend the day visiting George at the shop, since he had the day off, since Draco and Smith had gone off to research something at the club that Smith often went to for his madcap rallies. Smith had tried to explain to Harry what they were looking for- apparently it was an obscure reference to an American reformer's study done in New England, but thankfully Draco had steered him from Harry.

The joke shop was as wonderfully bright and as offensive to the eyes as ever. And as soon as Harry entered he nearly slipped in a movable puddle of _constantly slippery slime_, and he had a four year old hurl items from a Skiving Snackbox at him, which he had to dodge until the child's mother came up to him, bowing and murmuring. It was all perfectly embarrassing, especially because the witch had to have had ten years on Harry's age. Harry then had to skip across two teenagers who looked as though they should have been up at Hogwarts, but instead were trying out the _Super Spot Supplement;_ each trying to outdo the other by giving each other the worst acne.

Harry finally made his way to the back of the shop where George had his office. On the office wall was a poster that stated _I'd rather be working than shagging,_ framed by a thousand slips of parchment spellotaped in a cascading garble of nonsense. Harry wondered vaguely if George ever actually read those notices on the wall, or if there were there as some type of endless prank, a kind of _notice me I'm the boss_ kick.

"Harry," George said genially, gesturing to a chair with a cauldron on it and some purple glob in that. "Take a seat, and take that- "

Harry used his wand to levitate the cauldron to the floor and George's face fell. "Pity," George frowned. "I'll just have to have one of the product testers try it out, then. It's supposed to make you bluntly insult the person you see, but so far all it's doing is giving people a massive case of _lust looking_. I suppose I could market it as a dating aid, but it really isn't the angle I'm going for."

Harry didn't really _want_ to know what angle George was going for- he was a very, _very _silent partner in the business and he liked staying that way.

"You're not wearing magenta robes," Harry said, gesturing to George's get up. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Business meeting on Occasion Alley this morning," George said and stuck out his tongue- it was bright green. "Lot of nonsense about expansion and all of that. I put a diuretic in everyone's tea, the whole thing went a lot faster that way."

Harry laughed. George had grown up and become extremely business savvy, and been named one of the best entrepreneurs in the wizarding world, but nothing could make him stop his pranks; especially when someone bored him to death. Foreign business men went into meetings with George Weasley with a certain fear that they would come out with their hair green, dressed in drag, or one time, as the Korean emissary had been forced to suffer- sobbing through his delicious five star dinner for his mother in his native tongue. He really shouldn't have taken that cough drop from George, but no one had been there to warn him.

"So," George said evenly, tossing up a handful of feathers which became ticker tape as it fell. "How's the single life?"

"Not so single," Harry admitted, cutting straight to the point.

"Hmm," George mused, looking at one feather analytically and then at Harry's face. "Draco Malfoy part two, then? I can't say I'm shocked. Must have been _very_ recently. I'd say Ron's wedding. Or a little before."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking down at his ragged cuticles because he wouldn't dare touch anything in George's office, especially the innocuous items. Harry had thought it was best to tell George first that he and Draco had made it up, especially since George and Bill had felt it all so keenly. Harry winced, recalling that disastrous first Yule, three years ago, when Harry had brought Draco to the Burrow. The argument hadn't even broken out between any proper Weasleys, instead it had been between Fleur and Draco. Back then Harry had put it down to the issue surrounding Bill, but now Harry could see it as the culmination of an awful evening of tension, history and stress- and Harry had regretted ever since not walking the fine line of paying attention to everyone's strained emotions regarding what had happened during their sixth year and the war.

"Hmm," George said finally. "There's no accounting for taste, do you know that? I mean I can't see what Ange sees in me- and I won't ever be able to see what you see in a person like Malfoy."

Harry nodded curtly- it was as close as George was going to get to accepting Draco. Still, it was more than Harry had thought was possible three years ago when they had almost sat with their wands out over Mrs. Weasley's roast, while the wireless played Celestina Warbeck's greatest hits.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you want to take home from the shop, Harry?" George smiled wickedly. "We've gotten in these edible pants in for the adult section that really only give your partner extreme prolonged flatulence- they've been a big hit with witches whose husbands have been caught dallying on the wrong pitch as it where."

"Er," Harry muttered, scratching at his neck, "Draco's been on the right pitch, I suppose- I wouldn't want to, umm, make him uncomfortable."

George _tsked._ "What a sad sort of sex life you must have- anyway to each his own, eh? At least while he's on the right pitch tell him to make sure and be careful steering your broom this time!"

Harry coughed down a laugh-oh _gods-_ Yule this year was going to be uncomfortable, unless they decided to take a holiday somewhere.

George blew some feathers out of his face and toward Harry and they fell to the ground in a mass of ticker tape without the fanfare once more. George clapped Harry's shoulder, which distracted Harry from asking about the feathery oddity- which was obviously a last-ditch prank, anyway. "I suppose at the end of the day we all want you to be happy, Harry- even Mum's given up the ghost of you and Ginny since she's gotten two grandchildren out of that idiot Nott. I just hope you know what you're doing Harry."

"I do," Harry said evenly and without malice- this time he wasn't going to let anyone manipulate him out of his feelings- but that was no reason to be cruel to his friends for disagreeing with him.

"Good," George smiled. "Good."

* * *

Harry smiled as soon as he walked back into Grimmauld Place. Draco's rocker was in the living room, with his stout little tabby cat Allison seated upon it like a queen upon a throne. She eyed Harry tiredly as soon as he entered, and then stretched her paws out and sashayed her way toward the large windows in the entrance hall. Harry and Allison had reached a detente after her move to Grimmauld Place; somehow the cat recognized that she was on Harry's turf and had lost in upper hand, but the feline still recognized that part of remaining in Draco's good graces for Harry meant that he had to deal with his spoilt beast and her ever shifting moods.

Draco's Egyptian throws had replaced Hermione's simple English rug for the fireplace and several of Draco's old relations that had been stored in the attic had made their way back down stairs, including Cygnus Black and Regulus- who still didn't say much of anything at all but eyed Draco with a great deal of interest whenever Draco was in the study. Harry hadn't minded making all of these compromises- Draco's duvet was warmer and fluffier than his own, and Draco's wireless got better reception. Harry didn't even mind tripping over the mound of books that Draco left in the doorways of their bedroom when he went to use the loo in the early hours of the morning.

It was all so _nice._

It was nice to wake up to Draco pressing his cold feet to Harry's side and complaining about the _state of old wizarding houses, _which was rather rich coming from someone who was from one of the oldest pureblood families in the wizarding world. It was also nice to have someone cooking him breakfast and Flooing him when he worked late through the early hours of the morning. It was even nice to be choked half to death by Draco's smoking in the bed after they shagged, looking beautiful and mysterious through all that smoke.

Harry supposed he was still living on the honeymoon high of moving in together with Draco, but it was amazing, and it was what he had wanted for so bloody long that it still shocked him that it actually was his life. _Every_ day.

When Harry got in from the shop, Draco was in the library surrounded by a stack of books and textbooks, presumably for the study_. _Draco had the nearest tome open to a withered page, and was staring into it's depths rather absently, as the ink from the quill in his hand was dribbling onto his finger; making a rather neat blob on the page.

Draco yawned and stretched- he was wearing Harry's t-shirt from when he had been a guest lecturer for the trainees last year, and _Potter_ was emblazoned on the back. It had been a long time since Draco had worn anything of his and it made Harry feel treacle-sweet down to his toes.

"I felt the wards warp- I _do_ know you're here, even if I don't say anything" Draco sighed, underlying something on the page. "I'm getting nowhere but I'm imagining that if I keep staring at this page I can make some sort of headway and be able to take on the statistics for the full study before we're given approval in the fall."

"Have you been given approval?" Harry asked excitedly- he was really hopeful- Draco and Hermione had put so much work into this study and Harry really did want it to succeed. He just couldn't see how Draco could have put in all this work and have been teaching at the same time- perhaps that was why he had had to give up one or the other, and it rather made sense that Draco would do it this way.

"No," Draco yawned. "Ministry's on recess, we'll not hear anything, especially with Hermione away. Smith says that he thinks that the chances are extremely good considering the fact that more Progressives have made their way into-

Draco looked up and burst into laughter. "Harry why on _Merlin's _green England have you gone and put on rouge and eye makeup on for- you look bloody _absurd._"

"It was George _sodding_ Weasley," Harry said, stopping his foot and nearly tipping over Draco ink well. Draco only laughed even harder, the heartless little brat as he righted the ink with his wand.

"I can't look at you," Draco snorted, waving Harry away as he turned his face into his book. "Merlin _and _Morgana- it's bloody awful, although the purple really does bring out your eyes-" Draco burst out into fresh laughter.

"You have a lot of nerve," Harry scowled, "Considering the fact that you've got ink on your face."

"Haven't," Draco pouted, which was adorable, but then he predictably wiped at his face with his ink-coated hand, smearing navy ink across the bridge of his nose and one cheekbone. He looked at his hand and pouted even _more_ although his mouth twitched- betraying the fact that he was in fact amused.

"You're such a bastard, Potter," Draco said, wiping his hand purposely on Harry's shirt to spite him. "And you do a terrible impression of a woman."

Harry knew it- he remembered the one trainee session he had actually made it through in New York when Cowper had had to try out the glamour charms-he had been too broad to successfully pass off a cross-dresser unlike the reedy and clever Cowper. It had also been the same night Harry had noticed the dancer at the gay club that had looked so much like Draco and realized that he wasn't fully straight- although it would be yet awhile still until he put together the fact that he was massively attracted to his future lover.

Draco rose from his seat and put a hand over the ink to keep it from tipping over again, as he rounded his way over to where Harry was standing, sliding his arms out of Harry's shirt and onto the floor. It fell onto the desk, and hit the ponderous tome that Draco had been reading; knocking over the bottle of ink, the blotter, and the abacus that had been hovering over the work station.

"Oh, of _course_," Draco laughed, stomping his foot.

"You're adorable when you're cross," Harry whispered, sliding a down Draco's bare arm. "Come here."

Draco slid closer and then turned away, smiling- "I _can't_," Draco said, shaking his head and placing it on Harry's shoulder. "For the gods' sake, cast _finite_ on your face, I can't take you seriously in drag."

"I didn't know you ever took me seriously," Harry sniffed, but he obediently swiped his wand over his face, clearing off the mess that George Weasley had made of his skin. "There. Do I still look like a bad example of what you can do with a few _glamours-_ like they say in every Witch's Weekly?"

"You look like your normal charming four eyed self," Draco said, plucking Harry's glasses from his face, and tossing them somewhere across the room. Harry winced as they crunched against something- they'd definitely need a _reparo _later.

"Do my face," Draco pointed to his nose and Harry shook his head, rubbing at his cheekbone softly.

"No," Harry murmured, licking a broad swipe across Draco's pointed chin. "I rather fancy you dirty, Malfoy- in fact I think you're about to get a whole lot dirtier."

"Am I?" Draco smirked, stepping backwards towards the leather loveseat against the wall of the room. "I'd like to see you try- no, in fact I _dare_ you, Potter."

"Bloody tease," Harry growled, trying to hop out of his shoes and undo his jeans at the same time. He finally got undressed and practically leapt on top of Draco who was very willing prey- and not much else was said until dinner, until Draco remembered the ink and Harry got a hex to the arse.

* * *

"Ron and Hermione are coming home today," Harry said to Draco who wasn't reading the nonsense in the _Daily Prophet_ as he might have done before their breakup. Instead he had found an ancient copy of some philosopher's diary in the library at Grimmauld, which he had lent out to Smith, who had returned it in some sub par condition. Harry wasn't quite sure about the state of it all, as it looked the same to him, but he listened intently all the same, as he most certainly didn't want to be put out of his own bedroom because Smith was still a git.

"Are they?" Draco asked, buttering a piece of toast and placing it on Harry's plate. "We should have Hermione and Ron over- I have some articles I want to go over with Granger- well, not Granger anymore."

Harry knew that he was probably beaming. Draco and Ron had always gotten along since the Avery and Yaxley captures and Harry's subsequent injuries, but Draco and Hermione had always had such a contentious relationship. All of that calling a girl a _mudblood_ and then punching a bloke afterward wasn't the best foundation, and then Hermione was the only one to ever know that Draco had cheated on Algernon Bones with Harry for months- it had been a disaster. But it was all over now, or as resolved as it would ever be- Hermione and Draco agreed on one thing; they wanted to make their study a success and because of it they were actually forming a friendship.

"I'll Floo them as soon as they come in," Harry said with a grin. "But for now I have to go to work without my partner- thankfully for the last time, working with Marsh is absolutely ripping years off my life- bloody first year Aurors."

Draco looked up from his journal and smiled, "You were a first year once- as I remember both times. Poor girl is probably in awe of you."

"She's always trying to rush off to find a public Floo so that she can fire call her boyfriend," Harry sniffed disdainfully, brushing a kiss on Draco's temple. "Goodbye, darling."

"Goodbye," Draco said. "Make sure that cow doesn't manage to get you both killed."

* * *

Ron ended up coming in a bit late. Harry was so happy to see him that he happily sat through Robards' scolding about how there was no preferential treatment for newlyweds, heroes, or celebrities. Robards eventually ran out of steam and told Ron congratulations and set them on desk duty for the rest of the day as a present- or punishment.

"Blimey," Ron said, leaning back on his squeaky chair, and extending his long legs. "I've missed this- this _is_ the life mate- married, kid on the way, happy relationship. Nothing I can complain about except desk duty. Merlin, I'm a lucky bloke."

"Hmm hmm," Harry agreed vaguely- last night he had shagged Draco in the shower, the waterfall from the shower head plastering Draco's cinnamon-brown hair to the back of his neck, as Harry had mouthed across the smooth space where his neck met his shoulder. And best of al.l there was no rows before _or_ after, in fact there hadn't been any in the month that they had been back together.

Ron put down his paper and looked at Harry with interest. "Harry," Ron stated evenly. "You're going to marry Malfoy."

Harry paused, trying to think about his answer carefully. He had wanted to, desperately before the breakup, but back then the more had pushed Draco, the more it seemed he had run away. Now that Harry had nearly everything he had ever wanted he was loathed to push the issue in case it might make Draco retreat all over again.

"Bollocks," Harry frowned at his pile of paperwork. He really ought to do _something_ today, other than listen to Ron Seeing his future. "Imagine what I would have said when I was fifteen and you would have said that?"

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. "That it was You-Know-Who. But we're _not _fifteen anymore, Harry. The thirteen year old git inside me is miserable, but the adult me is really happy for you, Potter. Malfoy isn't _so_ horrible anymore, and his face only looks like a ferrets three out of seven days of the week. I reckon I'll get over it in time. Instead of a stag night, though, I'll have to pay for Mind Healers for the entire family."

"I haven't asked him!" Harry cried, caught between horror and amusement.

"Aha!" Ron smirked, and then he sighed. "What are we planning, and do we need my wife?"


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Hey everyone- did you enjoy your summer? I really didn't with my knee all messed up, so I'm glad it's over :P Anyway, I had a sort of tragedy with my laptop and I lost loads of information, including half of my other story, Reverso, and my J/S story which is really, really upsetting to me because I loved that James/Scorpius fic and I wanted to post it really badly. I don't know know whether I should even bother re-writing either one, I'm really just annoyed. *grumble* So this chapter is dedicated to Ms Shinra because I know exactly what you are going through._

_Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Luckily Art of Love wasn't chomped to bits, phew. _

* * *

Chapter 20:

Draco turned the page of his novel with dissatisfaction. It was a _good_ book, but it wasn't good enough to hold his interest tonight. Draco sighed. He could feel his back knotted up from stress. It was the study. It was the study, and being in London, and being so removed from Darby and Dismal Alley, and the day-to-day life of the children he wanted to survey. The students he wanted to teach. Draco squeezed the binding of his paperback with frustration- he wanted to know how Tory was getting on with the hospital records tonight; he wanted to know how Polly was doing with her father. If only he could be in two places at once, legally, these days.

But Draco had made his choice, and he didn't regret it; he only wished for more.

It simply was the curse of being spoiled most of his childhood. But was it _really_ being spoiled to ask for a career and a home in the same place?

Draco opened his novel again and turned to the last line that he remembered reading. The author was still describing the way water trickled out of a wand when a wizard cast _aguamenti_. Draco had chosen this novel because it was supposed to be lyrical, intense and cerebral. Instead it was awkwardly paced, long winded, and boring. It was putting him to sleep. And it was oddly making him need the loo, with all it's talk of water. Draco closed the page and stared at Harry.

Harry was asleep, or rather, pretending to be asleep. Draco knew enough about Harry to know when Harry was playacting- especially since Harry was a shit liar. His breathing for one was all off for someone who was slumbering, and for another, he was laying there like a corpse, not like he was at ease with himself.

Draco turned to his side and placed his book on the nightstand. Then he _nox_ed the gaslights and slid under the sheets himself.

Draco shifted onto his side awkwardly. It was impossible to fall asleep next to a wizard that was pretending to be fine, but Draco didn't know how to broach the subject of a talk when Harry was shutting him out. Whenever Harry usually was cross with him it usually exploded into a vicious row and then, later, a type of conversation. Draco shifted his body again. He was becoming aware of the fact that they _both _were pretending to sleep. Draco sighed again- loudly- on purpose, as if to let Harry know that he was awake. Then he fluffed his pillow, shaking the bed as rudely as he could. It wasn't _fair_. Draco was meant to be the cold one. He was a Slytherin. He was a _Malfoy._

Draco bit his lip, staring at Harry's form. Harry hadn't been coming home from work lately, or using the Floo at any odd hours. Not that Draco was the possessive type-that had always been Harry's forte.

It _could_ be a case from work. Occasionally Harry wasn't able to talk to him about what was going on, but usually Harry let out a _morsmordre _beforehand. When that was going on, Harry would obsessively read the papers, looking for clues or signs in any news, or even the wording in any headlines. Then he'd listen to the morning and evening news, and Merlin forbid if Draco wanted to hear anything else. Finally, Harry would coil himself so tightly into a bad core that he would have to go to the _Red Responders_ for two or three nights in a row, and then have a shag afterwards, as if to cleanse himself.

But none of that had happened. So it wasn't about work. But it _could_ be about the Weasleys. Draco knew that Harry was interceding on his behalf to some of them- Draco hadn't brought the conversation up to Granger, but he could tell. Everyone had seemed nicer on the Floo, even George Weasley. It _could_ logically be an issue, but Draco didn't see how. This was an old problem, and it seemed to be gradually resolving itself.

That only left the pair of them. Draco felt himself stiffening in his odd posture. Harry obviously had an issue with their relationship that he hadn't discussed with him. Draco bit down on his tongue. What was so wrong with their relationship, anyway? Draco had cleaned the floor last week. Draco _Malfoy_ had cleaned with the portraits of his ancestors watching him. He had even let Harry try that aphrodisiac tincture that he had gotten on through mail order last month. And Draco had only complained for a half-hour when it had barely worked.

All at once Draco felt the familiar sensations of annoyance, frustration and worry clamp a noose around his emotions. He didn't know what to do and he didn't know how to explain his feelings about their relationship to Harry, especially when his feelings might just be insecurity. Draco stared up at the ceiling. It seemed as if he spent his entire life staring at ceilings, wanting to be away from the place he was.

Well, Draco wasn't going to run this time. Especially when they were finally happy.

If Harry wasn't going to tell him what was wrong now, then Draco was going to find out what it was and fix it himself.

Draco smiled to himself. He had the _perfect_ idea on how to start.

* * *

Draco could hear the steps coming down the stairs. It was totally quiet in the kitchens, except for the sound of the eggs that Draco had cracked into the pan, as they bubbled up merrily in their own grease. They looked so happy, those eggs, in their white-and-golden, cholesterol-laden bliss. Draco felt his stomach heave- he'd never been a breakfast person, himself. He turned the eggs with far too much care, his wand too stiff in his hand.

"Smells good," Harry's mouth was pressed against his neck, and Draco shivered slightly as a hand slid around his waist and forced Draco's back toward Harry's stomach. A little more of this and Draco would forget about his plan to extract information about whatever had been bothering Harry last night. "You're cooking breakfast."

"Got it in one," Draco wiggled his way out of the embrace. _Concentrate. _"There's fried tomatoes on that plate. Do you want toast?"

"Please," Harry looked as though he wanted to cry- he was _that_ happy. Now Draco felt a bit guilty. It wouldn't cost him much to actually toss together a few spells that he had read, and make Harry a meal more often. Besides, eating takeaway all the time was making them both spotty. "Have we got any pumpkin juice?"

"No," Draco glared at him, as Harry sat down regally- rather like a Gryffindor after winning a Quidditch match. "_You_ forgot to buy it yesterday."

"Sorry," Harry had the good sense to look bashful. "Shall I put the kettle on, then?"

"Never mind," Draco shrugged. He was starting to feel more than a mass of guilt. But Draco really didn't understand why he was miserable, anyway, it had been Harry that had been acting oddly. Draco was only trying to get him to confess, so that they could be happy, without the secrecy that they had used against each other in the past. But perhaps Slytherin subterfuge wasn't the best move for his increasingly Gryffindor constitution.

Draco tapped the tea kettle with his wand and then dished out the eggs neatly onto Harry's blue-and-gold plate. Somehow this was soothing- it was sort of like brewing a potion. Draco had expected this all to be a drudgery, but instead he felt an odd sort of pride in it.

Not that he would tell Harry that, of course.

Draco sat down with his tea and an unlit fag. Harry was staring at him, with an expression that could have melted chocolate and fifth-year girls' hearts. Draco could feel himself flushing. He tucked his hair behind his ear. Stupid overlong hair. What _was_ he cross with Harry about, anyway?

"Thanks again," Harry smiled tenderly. "You didn't have to do this, you know." _Bloody hell._ Draco need a shag. A shag and whole pack of cigarettes. Draco slipped the soft pad of his right thumb into his mouth nervously and Harry watched the movement intensely. Aha- apparently Draco wasn't the only with _this_ issue.

Harry coughed loudly. Twice. Then he bit down on one egg, cracking the yolk. A little bit of the yellow center dribbled down onto Harry's lip, and he licked it away with the tip of his tongue. _Tease._

"I love you," Harry smiled softly and Draco couldn't help but scrunch his nose and then look away. It was all a bit _too_ much, and Draco felt silly. He had made this breakfast so sure that he was going to get another confrontation out of Harry, but instead, Harry was staring at him like when they first met. Well, not _first _met. When Harry had first come back from America. Harry looked a bit _Confunded_ and slightly overawed.

The kettle squealed, and Draco leapt up as if it was his saving grace. He performed the spells to divide the liquid into the two cups as if he was seven years old again, and at his father's knee, learning how to use a wand.

Draco _levitated_ the cups back, setting one in front of Harry with deliberate care. "It's hot, Potter," Draco said, tapping the cigarette against the table.

"I know, Draco," Harry responded tenderly, as if he was going to stand up and pat Draco on the head for performing such an elaborate feat. "You didn't say anything."

Draco stilled. What did Harry know that Draco didn't? Was _that_ what Harry had been up about last night? Draco racked his head quickly; trying to come up with all of their family members, friends, or acquaintances who might have been ill, or who might have told Draco something damning. There was nothing, of course that came to mind immediately.

"Say anything about what?" Draco asked, his voice a little _too_ high. "Is that why you were up last night?"

Harry flushed- just like Teddy did when he got caught out in a lie. A _lie._ "I wanted you to say _I love you, too,_ you git. And I wasn't properly up last night. I was just thinking, that's all."

"Oh," Draco wasn't sure what to believe. Harry was smiling at him lovingly. But he looked guarded. "Is something wrong, then?"

"No," Harry smiled. "It's good- really, really brilliant, actually. You make me really happy, Malfoy."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. Especially as he had his teacup to his mouth.

* * *

The sun was bright and Draco turned away from the lace curtains, squinting.

Harry was outside in the back garden trying to put together a collapsible tent in the shape of a roaring dragon for Teddy. Draco had put it together last year but he had put the directions somewhere in his Camden flat- a flat that had been packed and then unpacked to Darby, which meant that the directions were probably there; tucked in between the pages of some book or in a box in the attic, waiting to be used. Draco smiled indoors- he could hear Teddy wailing out spells for Harry to try, as if he would be better at using a wand than the Boy-Who-Lived.

"How are you, Draco?" Aunt Andromeda asked, stirring in the instant lemonade packets into her glass pitcher of water. The day was uncommonly warm and bright and Teddy had begged his grandmother for Muggle lemonade, his favorite drink.

"What you mean to say is how have I found myself back with Harry Potter," Draco retorted cheekily. Aunt Andromeda had probably been dying for this chance to ask him everything, alone. Any other time Draco had visited, Harry had been close by his side, and Aunty had avoided any impolite questions.

"And if I did-" Aunt Andromeda said evenly, _accio-_ing down two clean glasses from the high cupboard. "What would be the trouble with that? You seemed happy on your own, Draco- you were quite successful, and independent. Don't think you have to tie yourself to Harry Potter just because every dratted society column has your names marked up as nearly-wed."

Draco had _no_ idea that that had been going on- he hadn't been reading the papers much since he'd made that decisive move to Darby and started dedicated himself to the study. The only thing that he'd actually read was Smith's rambling pamphlets and that was only to shut Smith up and get him to put in a good few hours of work.

"I'm with him for the same reasons you were with Ted Tonks, Aunty," Draco said, staring at the lemon slice that floated lazily in the hazy yellow pitcher. "I'm with him _in spite _of what has happened- not for the allure of it."

For a long time Aunt Andromeda didn't say anything, then finally, she took Draco's hand. "The Blacks were always drawn to making their own little rebellions and then eventually finding their own ways out of them. I've only wanted you to be happy, Draco- ever since I came to the hospital to see you, I've wanted you to be well, and be happy, whatever the outcome. If I ever held you back from being with Harry Potter, my dear, it's because I knew that he was going to match you at your own game."

"Slytherin," Draco teased, but his voice was slightly choked. She was so good, so brilliant and decisive and strong. Not for the first time since he had known her did Draco wonder what his life would have been like if he would have been Andromeda Tonks' son instead of Narcissa Malfoy's. "I'm so very grateful to you. Even if you are sly."

"You should be," Aunt Andromeda said, smoothing her hair regally. "Now fix yourself Draco, you look like a heathen- and let's give Teddy his lemonade before he faints from changing his hair so many colors in that heat."

Draco laughed and shook his head, reaching for the handle of the back garden door, but before he did, his aunt touched his shoulder.

"He'll ask you this year," Aunty smiled as serenely as a Seer, letting the weight of her implications hit Draco's mind before she spoke again. "I'm willing to bet your vaults on it, Draco- he's mad for you this time. He won't let you go again."

"You'll bet _my _vault because you're not sure," Draco said dryly, his palms sweating as he pulled grasped the handle forcefully. Was his aunt trying to warn him off Harry? Or encourage him? He didn't know, and he didn't dare disrespect his aunt by questioning her about her feelings for Harry when she was being so kind to him about their relationship- finally. "Let me _levitate_ the pitcher. It's heavy."

"Draco," Teddy said proudly, gesturing to his half- standing, half-lopsided tent. "Harry got my tent to stand up- what do you think about it?"

"That Harry forgot the wand motion to erect collapsible fabrics," Draco drawled, looking over to Harry who was red and fanning himself in the heat. Harry raised two covert fingers which Draco decently ignored since Teddy was standing right bedside him. With a slash of Draco's wand and an arch of his wrist the tent puffed to life as a roaring dragon- not the sadly wilted reptile that Harry had placed in the corner of the back garden.

"Showing me up, Malfoy?" Harry snorted, pressing a kiss to Draco's neck. "I ought to have Teddy show you around the inside of that thing- it's got seven rooms- what would a nine year old want with seven rooms?"

_He's mad for you._ Draco shook himself, forcing his aunt's words from his mind.

"It's where he hides all his old _Zooming for Fun_ mags," Draco laughed, forcing lightness into his tone. Draco was referring to the favorite young lad's mag with focused on celebrities, Quidditch stars, and of course- Harry Potter. Teddy always skipped the Harry bits, as he told Draco wearily, since he was Harry's godson, and they always contained the same information _Harry Potter lives in London, loves Quidditch, is an Auror. _

"Ah, to be nine," Harry laughed, making his way to the lawn chairs and spreading his legs so that Draco could sit in the space between them. "Do you think he'll come out anytime soon or invite us to come in?"

"Ha," Draco snorted. "More likely is that he'll come looking for one of us to cast a cooling charm in there so he can keep on doing whatever it is that he's up to in there. Only children don't like company, Potter- they love being on their own and imagining things."

"I don't know," Harry said slowly, playing with the condensation of his lemonade glass. "I was an only child, technically, and I suppose I wanted company. Didn't you?"

"I wanted to be free," Draco said softly, taking Harry's lemonade and taking a sip- this was a very odd turn for their conversation to take. It was strange but in the years that they had known each other and in the years that they had been dating on and off they had never actually talked about these things, or even hinted at them. Everything had been forced under the rug until they were tiptoe-ing about the giant mound in the room.

Harry took back the glass and toyed with the rind of the lemon on the rim. "I suppose I wanted to be, too," he murmured softly. Then a moment later he shook Draco's shoulders. "We're being two miserable gits- let's go and see if we can fit inside Teddy's tent."

Draco laughed-"You're too wide, you should _glamour _yourself into someone with less bulk."

Harry narrowed his eyes- "You'd have to charm off that arse first Malfoy- owls probably deliver to that address."

"Oy," Draco cried, affronted, and made as though he was going to toss the jug of lemonade onto Harry's head, but, Harry, with his superior Auror skill, dodged away at the last moment and rushed into the tent. Laughing, Draco grabbed the three glasses and followed him into the tent to spend a sunny afternoon with his cousin, his boyfriend, and his aunt.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Hi guys- I know this chapter is really late, but I promise the next one will not be since I've already written it. Things have been super hectic and I haven't updated, but I will try try *try* to keep on top of this story since it's all basically written and don't worry I haven't forgotten it and I will post it to it's conclusion. I got chewed out by my fanfic writer sister who said I am a terrible updater so now I am trying to beat her and post all my story first before she does hers._

_ Lol wish me luck and please review._

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Chapter 21:

"Are you _sure_ that you're alright?" Harry asked. "I can stay home, Draco. I've got nothing going on at work that I can't miss, and Robards owes me days off because I took the Borman case from Sampson."

"I'm fine," Draco waved him off tiredly, but his face was so pale that Harry fancied he could see veins, and his voice was so nasal that Harry had to lean in to catch each phrase.

Harry paused at the doorjamb, sighing. Draco had caught some type of bug from Teddy, which Teddy had likely caught from Molly or Roxanne, or one of the older Weasley children. Now Draco was tucked into their heavy duvet, staving off his chill with a cauldron full of conjured smoke that he kept burying his head into at regular intervals. That and tea seemed to be Draco's idea of a remedy, but Harry was not convinced. He wanted Draco to let Harry Floo Greengrass. She was a Healer, and she was meant to be Draco's best mate. But right now Draco was too busy salvaging his pride, rather than thinking of his health.

"No," Harry dropped his wand onto their end table decisively. "I'm staying. You look like something Allison might drag in from the back garden."

"Thank you," Draco's voice echoed from within the cauldron as Harry sat down on the bed and began to unbutton his cloak. "I see that I'm loved."

Harry sighed. Draco was only joking because he was cross and ill, but he really had no idea how much Harry did love him. The last bit of summer had died out into an abnormally cool fall, and Harry was still thinking about what Ron had said that day in their little office at the Ministry. Harry _did_ want to marry him, or bond with him, or make some sort of commitment. But every day that they were together was so perfect, and so serene. Every morning Harry would wake up to his tea and Draco reading financial reports for charities, and it was so _lovely_. He was afraid to change it.

And yet, if he didn't claim it as his own, it might disappear again.

"_Harry,_" Draco moaned, and Harry bit down a smirk- where had the nurturing wizard who had taken care of him gone? Obviously Draco could only deal with an illness if it wasn't him. What a _Slytherin._ "Harry could you get me _Lithia_ water, I don't think I've taken it yet today."

"You did," Harry smiled softly. Draco looked so pathetically adorable encased in their blue duvet. Sort of like a taco dolly. Harry smiled at his darkened eyes, the bruises from his congestion only making the pretty light grey stand out even more. There was _no_ way that Harry could go to work and leave him like this. It felt like a crime against the wizarding world.

"Did I?" Draco sniffled and then let out a cough that sounded like a dog barking. Harry winced, pulling him closer, even as Draco struggled out of the embrace.

"If we're both sick," Draco scrunched his nose as though he would sneeze, but managed to hold it back. "What sense would that make?"

"I don't care!" Harry huffed. Draco was so- so- _Malfoy_ sometimes. "Come here and let me hold you! That's better. Poor little baby."

"I'm not little," Draco sounded younger than Teddy with his congested sinuses. "I'm older than you, Potter."

"Hmm," Draco's hair smelled of their musky shampoo, and of the vanilla and spice conditioning treatment that Harry had gotten on sale at the Apothecaries for his hair, not that it had made much of a difference. Harry pulled Draco a little closer, until he rested in the _v_ of his legs in the mattress. Draco was overly hot and naturally thin, and something about his frailness spoke to the instinct in Harry to protect and keep and save.

Harry pushed back Draco's sweat-soaked hair and kissed his forehead. _Mine,_ was the pervasive message running through his body. _Mine._

"You're hot," Harry said gruffly, encircling Draco with his arms, as if that would cure the illness. "You've got the Heat."

"Haven't even," Draco scoffed back, shifting closer as if seeking Harry's warmth, even though he was wrapped feet to shoulders in a thick blanket and was in a heating-charmed home.

Harry pulled Draco closer, allowing him to rest his head on his chest. For some odd reason Harry wished that he wasn't wearing a shirt as though skin to skin contact would cure Draco's cold. Perhaps it was some type of fantasy. Something about Draco ill was so- _attractive._ He really was beautiful, the most beautiful wizard Harry had ever seen. Harry tentatively touched Draco's head, the crown of which had a faint bit of cool condensation, not unlike the cauldron now at the foot of their bed. Draco moaned and muttered something as Harry's fingers got stuck in a knot of his hair, but he didn't pull away as Harry feared he would- instead he snuggled up closer.

"You're sweating," Harry frowned, not sure what he should do. Harry hadn't called out of work- he hadn't told Hermione or Ron that Draco was ill- _Merlin_, Harry hadn't even had his tea yet this morning. Harry hadn't realized how much Draco structured his life until this moment. Everyday before Harry woke up, Draco had already gotten up and prepared most of the mundane little tasks of life, like getting their Owls, or checking their missed Floos.

"It's condensation from the cauldron," Draco said, and then he began to cough again- that loud, worrying cough that seemed to rattle his whole chest. Harry started, rubbing Draco's back, but Draco pulled away with a loud sneeze.

"That's _it_!" Harry cried. "I'm calling _someone _! Or I'm taking you to St. Mungo's."

Draco looked at Harry as though he had grown three tails, which might have been due to the fact that Harry had leapt off the bed in frustration, knocking Draco to the side, roll of blankets and all. Luckily the cushioning of the duvet padded him, or he could have severely bruised his knees or his back from the ricochet of Harry's frustration. Harry looked at Draco apologetically, trying not to laugh as Draco rubbed his adorably red nose.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco huffed, gesturing to the foggy cauldron which Harry handed him quickly. "I can't go to St. Mungo's. I'm Harry Potter's lover. It will be all over the papers. Can you just get me a chocolate bar? There were two medicinal ones in the downstairs bathroom, I think."

"Sure," Harry was floating down the stairs. Draco had said that he was _Harry Potter's lover._ Sure it was an off hand remark, said in the fits of a cold, over three years after they had gotten together, but it gave him an odd boost of hope. Really, at this point Harry was looking for anything to confirm what Ron had said- that Draco was interested in strengthening their commitment to each other. So far Harry had seen that in little actions, but that had all happened before, and then all of it had deteriorated with arguments caused by outside influences.

The real problem was that Harry Potter, the _Boy Who Lived, _the 'hero' was shitting himself with fear. There was a chance Draco would say no. There was a _good_ chance that Draco would say no. Draco loved his freedom- he had moved away from Harry to stake his claim to his freedom, hadn't he? Well, truth be told there had been a multitude of reasons why Draco had left, but fear was making Harry distill everything down to a simple debate in his mind.

A debate he wasn't sure he would win.

Harry stared at his hand. The simply wrapped medicinal chocolates were melting in his hand and Harry was staring at his own reflection in the mirror- not even seeing his own face in the glass. Delaying what seemed to be an inevitable on his part wasn't going to change Draco's reaction in and of itself. All he could do now was put his feelings out there and be thankful that he was more confident that their relationship could withstand the pressure of these revelations.

Harry made his way back up the creaking stairs of Grimmauld Place and into the master suite. The room was quiet and the steaming cauldron was mo longer- just a plain basin of water and herbs, set in a corner over a carpet. In the middle of their large bed, though, was Draco. He had fallen asleep, clearly exhausted from coughing at regular, painful intervals. Harry smiled- the duvet had fallen over Draco's face as if he had fallen asleep in a rapid heap, and the only bits of him that were exposed were the corner of his mouth for air supply and one hand to help keep the ventilation forthcoming.

Harry dropped the melted chocolate into the cauldron and sat down for a moment beside Draco. In a second he knew he was going to have to get up again to Floo up dispatch and Hermione to tell them all that he had taken the day off from work, but for right now Harry was enjoying admiring his lover. Draco was a morning person and even though Harry was an Auror, mornings were _not_ his favored shifts- in fact he often took weekends from his coworkers who had children to avoid them. That meant that Draco often woke before Harry, and Harry hardly ever saw him like this these days.

There was something so moving and brilliant in seeing the person you loved asleep, and it didn't have to be a child like Teddy. A slip of Draco's hair was out and the roots bled from blond to a light brown to an increasingly darker color, as though that was some type of message- as though it were the rings of a tree. Every now and again he would let out a little snuffle and Harry was of half the mind to store the ammunition because Draco had told him off before for snoring, or let it fly off because Draco was ill and adorable.

Harry looked for another beat of a second and then gently got off the bed and left to go to use to library Floo. It was clear to him now more than ever, though, that he had to start making plans about how he was going to propose or to ask Draco about marriage. Staring at Draco sleep was just a step _beyond_ a chest monster. Ron was right, things were bad.

Getting in contact with the Ministry was easy enough, especially since Harry was a senior Auror now, and Cho Chang manned the dispatch with glittering sliver talons. As long as she and Draco were good mates, Harry knew that as soon as he Floo'd it would get immediately answered.

Now Harry had to decide what to do about a Healer for Draco. The best and most immediate solution would probably be to take him into St. Mungo's, but Draco had already made it clear that he would not go there, and Harry had to admit that Draco did make a good case as to why it wasn't the wisest decision for them. Harry _could_ call a private Healer up from the Floo directory, but that would mean that he was really only avoiding Astoria Greengrass. Which he was. Harry had never spoken to Astoria alone- Draco had always been there to cushion the conversations between them, and Harry had always taken advantage of that and left the room early, or used it as an opportunity to tune out at times. Now that Harry really had to talk to Astoria, he felt a bit embarrassed. He had accused her once of stealing Draco away, well, in a roundabout sense.

Still, Harry wasn't a Gryffindor for anything.

Greengrass answered her Floo within two swirls of the powder. She looked to be dressed in fine house robes from what Harry could see, and her long blonde hair was twirled up on her head, and pinned with a stick. Harry rather hoped it wasn't her wand.

"Harry?" Harry felt doubly guilty now. In his mind he still called her _Greengrass_ but clearly her first instinct was to call him _Harry_. Draco was right when he called him a jealous git.

"Harry?" _Astoria's_ voice was tense. "Harry what has happened to Draco? Is he hurt?"

"Hurt?" Harry blinked, wondering how Astoria's mind had gotten to that conclusion. "Noo. He's just feeling unwell. I think he caught something from Teddy, or one of the older Weasleys. He's been coughing and he's hot but he feels cold-"

"I'd better come over," Astoria nodded briskly. "If you don't mind-"

Harry backed against the wall, and with a leap, Astoria Greengrass was in their library. All Harry could notice about her was the fact that the stick in her hair was not her wand, as Harry had wondered, but instead some bizarre blinking diamante pin. Harry had the odd feeling that he was noticing strange details about Astoria Greengrass' wardrobe because he was afraid for Draco, and not because all of a sudden he had decided to take fashion up as a second hobby after Quidditch.

"I'll go ahead," Astoria was all Healer now and Harry couldn't help but admire her for that. She hadn't even brushed the ash from her robes or from her hair. "Could you get me your Revelatory Runes? Oh- and could you get me a pain potion if you have it? And some fresh towels and a cauldron?"

"Sure," Harry managed a smile. "And thanks Astoria."

Astoria smiled back warmly. "You're welcome. But don't thank me yet. You know how stubborn Draco is. I'm going to need all the help I can get."

When Harry came back up the stairs he immediately heard Draco's rough cough, which made him aware of that Draco was awake and, of course, not feeling any better after his nap. Harry paused at the door for a moment, not sure of the proper procedure. He was in his own home, but Draco was seeing a Healer right now, so he deserved some type of privacy. Then again, the Healer was just a friend and Draco was his lover. Or- Harry was just being paranoid.

Draco coughed again rather loudly before speaking. "Is that Harry?"

"No, it's the ghost of your ancestors," Harry answered dryly to mute his concerns. "I've got everything you asked for, Astoria. At least I hope so."

Draco raised an eyebrow approvingly over his cauldron of conjured-hot steam. Obviously he approved of the way that Harry was interacting with his best mate. Harry had a feeling that if Draco were well, Harry would be on the receiving end of a really brilliant blow-

"Take your head out of the steam," Astoria instructed, all _Healer Greengrass_ now. That was enough to break Harry from his lurid thoughts and he shifted in place guiltily, as if he had been caught out of his dorm after hours. "Take the runes from Harry and let's see if they have some prediction about your illness."

"Don't be stupid," Draco sniffled. With his red nose and his dark circles, he looked like a petulant little boy arguing with his older sister. "I don't believe in Divination," Draco continued. "It's rubbish." "You don't believe that Fate had something do to with the fact that you're sitting here, right now?" Astoria tossed back.

"I'm ill right now," Draco coughed in between his words. "So excuse my disbelief."

"_Pushy_," Astoria groaned, glancing at Harry as if he could help with Draco's temper. "Go on."

Draco took the runes and shook them out in his hand, allowing them to fall flat onto the mattress. Harry couldn't help but stare at them over Astoria's shoulder. If there was some predictive magic that told her, as a Healer, what her patient had and what sort of prognosis to expect, Harry didn't see it. Then again, Harry had never had seen much of anything in Divination, not that he had been properly taught..

"I'll give you something for the cough," Astoria finally said, tapping the runes with her wand as if they were creatures that might spring up and attack. "A potion you can brew or get at the Apothecaries. Harry could brew it for you, if you want it tonight."

"I'll suffer," Draco wheezed out dramatically, and Harry smirked at him. "What else?"

"Just rest," Astoria shrugged. "Eat a chocolate bar every morning. And if Harry can take off work for the next few days it would be helpful. This is all stress induced you know."

"_Stress?_" Draco coughed rather like a seal begging for treats at that. Harry didn't think he'd mention that analogy later. "Tory-"

"Stress. Relax, Malfoy. The study will work out," Astoria looked tender now. Almost motherly. Distantly, Harry could almost see how a relationship could have worked between the pair of them, in another world, or another time. Draco always needed to be taken care of, and if it hadn't been Algernon Bones, or Harry, it could have very well have been a witch. A witch that Draco had known his whole life and whom he could trust. It was odd now, but Harry could look at that and not feel envy. Just pride in his success.

Harry supposed he could take it as a cosmic sign that now was the time- the time to propose to Draco. Everything was right-

Draco coughed loudly, then let out a long, heavy sigh.

"_Harry_," he whined. "Are you going to go to the Apothecary and get my potion?"

"On that note," Astoria rolled her eyes. "I'm going to leave. Goodbye Pushy. Don't kill Harry with your whinging. It will look bad on you."

Draco waved her off with a hand, as his head was mainly in the cauldron. Harry looked at Astoria awkwardly, but she smiled, and that broke up the moment.

"I'll show myself out," Astoria nodded. "Make sure to take that potion."

As soon as Astoria left, Harry sat down on the bed. The bed was cluttered with the items that Astoria thought she would need for her diagnosis, as well as the books, papers and letters that Draco read constantly regarding his study. Harry frowned at them for a moment. Harry had known from the beginning of their relationship that Draco didn't deal particularly well with stress- he bottled things up and flew away _literally_ at the sight of it, never minding the _lithia_ water. But Harry hadn't stopped to consider the fact that the study would create such stress in Draco's life. Harry had thought that the study would be more relaxing- Draco was at home, he was with Harry. But on the other hand, he had more to prove, hadn't he? And unfortunately, the whole world was still watching.

Draco pulled his head out of the cauldron and sighed heavily. His hair was wet and brushed back from his face, and he looked so young, and so tired. Harry didn't know what to do. He wanted to protect him- save him- _hold_ him. Physically he could always do the last one, but he didn't mean it in the normal physical sense. Harry just wanted to know that Draco was always his to keep safe. And even though he mostly knew it, there was that tiny bit of niggling doubt that drove him mad in times like this. What if Draco _actually_ was ill? Or he was? Draco's nearest relation was his mum, and that opened a whole new trunk.

Draco slipped his head onto Harry's shoulder, soaking his robe. Harry smiled- Draco had this perfect instinct of always knowing when he was upset.

"Malfoy," Harry sighed. "Why are you so fit?"

"My parents dabbled in the Dark Arts," Draco deadpanned and then coughed. "Are you going to get my potion?"

_Yeah,_ Harry thought to himself. _And a ring._


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Hey guys! I am so proud of myself for getting this chapter out and not procrastinating (I would give myself a gold star if I could, but half of it is down to the long weekend here in America that gave me extra time). Anyway, a few people asked about Reverso, so I'll talk about it again. I defiantly don't have the time in my life right now to re-write Reverso as well as the other project I'm working on and with my own personal life, etc; I'm so sorry everyone- if I could go back in time and save everything I could! I lost so much, not only fanfiction. Personal documents as well. I hope you understand and that you'll stick with the rest of my stories._

_Anyway, on a better note, please enjoy this chapter!_

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Chapter 22:

Draco yawned and stretched out on the Aubusson rug in the upstairs study. This comparatively little library had smaller windows and less bookshelves, but it was all made up in it's lovely grey velvet tête-à-tête, and it's companion in a heavy mahogany table, inlaid in marble depicting the Titan Hyperion observing the stars and their movement. Draco rather liked the table, since he had always liked the story of Hyperion as a child and he would often beg for it when his father wasn't busy.

"I feel like we're getting nowhere," Astoria said, brushing her hands along the delicately carved claw feet of the sofa. "All I've figured out is that the Blacks were mad for pre-Stumpian furniture. Have you gotten anywhere on the monetary calculations, Draco?"

Before Draco could open his mouth, Hermione cut him off. "Do we really want to compensation the families of Dismal Alley with gold, Draco? I think that the study will become extremely suspect if we do- people will think that the participants will give us the answers we are looking for, either consciously or unconsciously- all because we are gifting them. As much as we want to help . . ."

"Well what do you expect we do?" Smith cut her off nasally, passing Draco a cigarette, which he took tiredly- he had told Harry that he was going to try to cut back, but it was going to have to be after the study was completed- or until the Ministry finally gave Draco, Hermione, Smith and Astoria their smug denial. Draco had the feeling that their refusal was going to come sooner rather than later. The wizarding world had been waiting for too long to do this to him- ever since he had slinked away after the war, too sick to face a true trial. And if they had not written him off then, when he had pranced off with their not-so boy hero. Draco sighed. He had walked into this mess- but there were too many people involved now, including his friends.

"I see your point," Draco said, glaring at Smith as if to say _do not start something with Granger today you git_. "But if we do not offer the families some sort of compensation we will find ourselves without a population to survey. And giving any type of compensation will immediately make the study in some way suspect."

"I suppose," Hermione huffed, kicking off her shoes from her swollen feet. Granger was due any day now to give birth to her daughter, and the extra weight and water retention was making her surly and bad tempered, which showed in her work- she was ready to debate any point, even ones that she would usually concede as being rather ridiculous.

"If we address the flaws of the study, then it's less likely that will be able to use it against us," Astoria mused, making a notation on a pad of parchment. "It's the only thing we can do, and it _is_ a rather small flaw in the grand scheme of things- I mean, we aren't compensating the hospitals or the school in order to look through their records so we are pretty much running a tight match."

"Which is surprising considering there are two Slytherins writing the study," Draco snarked, casting _incendio_ over the end of a fag. "Will someone cast _tempus_ and tell me how long we've been trapped in this room?"

Smith circled his wand over the air. "It's seven fifteen- bloody hell. Are we staying here to eat tonight or we going out together?"

Astoria smiled hopefully at Smith at that suggestion and Draco rolled his eyes- Draco really wished that Tory would give up that infatuation with Smith; he was such a second rate example of an intellectual and a wizard, and if someone couldn't notice someone as lovely as Tory fancied them, then they were an idiot. Smith turned away from Astoria with a vague smile as though humoring a friend and Draco sighed- he was _not_ getting involved.

"You're more than welcome to stay," Draco said, _accio_-ing the scrolls and files and sorting them into neat piles. "Harry is on the Occasion Alley rounds tonight and he won't be home, so Allison and I will tolerate you lot."

"I wish I could stay, Pushy," Astoria said regretfully. "I've got work early tomorrow morning. Will you come over to Darby this weekend and bring Harry? I'll even cook but I won't promise anything edible- we might have to have chips from the corner shop."

"Useless cow," Draco teased, kissing her cheek. "I'll see you then. How about you, Smith? Off to the club?"

"To my bed," Smith grimaced. "I'm exhausted. I'll be around during the week, Malfoy, if I don't see you around the Ministry- see you, later, Granger, don't pop out that infant without letting any of us know."

"I'll time it just for you," Hermione said sardonically, waving Smith off.

Finally alone with just Granger, Draco laid back on the floor and closed his eyes. It was utterly silent, and Draco let out a long breath, trying to decompress. What would his thirteen year old self have said to the fact that he was sitting with Granger, alone in a room, working _together_- in _peace_? Actually, Draco had some idea- _imperio_. Now that he thought back on it, it seemed rather horrible, all the little things that he had managed to pick up growing up in his parent's large manor, listening at doors as the adults gossiped. It was nothing like the charmed childhood that Teddy had in his aunt's cottage. Looking back, everything felt austere, even though he had been spoiled and loved.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked, stretching out on the tête-à-tête, running a hand through her bushy hair, which rebelled against the attempt to quell it.

Draco smiled stiffly. "I'm having a crisis of identity- I go through those once a week, it will pass."

"I know what you mean," Granger said, surprising Draco. "I've been having them ever since I got pregnant- who am I, genius Unspeakable and co-author of a study, or wife and mother? Should I take time off of work to stay home with my daughter or should I go back to the Ministry right after the baby is born?"

"_Merlin_," Draco laughed, rising and taking the seat across from Hermione. "I suppose I never thought that the working mother suffered such a dilemma- you know you could write a study about that."

"Oh, piss off," Hermione smiled, poking his side. "I can barely stand working on the study I'm on- it's become an exercise in probability on who will jinx Smith first."

"No one," Draco sighed. "Unfortunately. We're all holding back because of Astoria. Poor Tory- there's no accounting for taste."

"Too true," Hermione frowned. "I'm starving though- let's get takeaway and listen to something on the wireless that has no intellectual value whatsoever."

Granger was great company- Draco could admit that after more than a few month's acquaintance. They got Chinese through the Floo and Draco sat back whilst Hermione tried to eat her weight in fried rice and veggies and Merlin knew what else. Then they had some pumpkin juice and put on the entertainment news- which was all gossip, rot and exaggeration. According to the 'news' the _on and off couple_ Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter weren't going to last because Malfoy couldn't get on with the Man Who Lived's friends. Hermione and Draco laughed a good deal at that, probably more than it merited, only because it reminded them how far they had come since their enmity.

Draco had no idea how they had fallen asleep in the sitting room- it was probably because Draco had been working on the statistical method for the study the whole night before, especially since Harry had been on rounds and not there to stop him from working through the early hours. Hermione had probably just been exhausted because she was pregnant, something that was probably difficult on the body- Draco didn't know, but Granger _did_ seem to want food and sleep more than before.

At about three in the morning, Draco felt a hand on his shoulder- it was surprisingly strong. Draco batted it away- Harry sometimes had the habit of fooling around with him at night when he was particularly randy.

"I'm not Harry," a pained voice said and Draco opened an eye carefully. "And now I know more about your sex life than I ever wanted to. Draco- the baby."

"Hermione?" Draco yawned- at three or so in the morning he wasn't particularly good for anything but a lazy shag and more sleep. "What do you mean?"

"It's _coming_," Hermione said, and gripped Draco's shoulder so tightly that even through his t-shirt he could feel her filed nails. Draco turned away from the pain, but when the words actually hit the receptors in his brain he sat up quickly.

"_Merlin_," Draco said, and luckily he was dressed, except for his shoes, which he _accio_'d quickly. "Can you make it slid-along to St. Mungo's or would you like to Floo?"

"Slide-along," Hermione panted, her face ashen and tight. "It's going fast- I thought it would be slower that this- I'll kill you, Malfoy, if you lose a limb of mine along the way to hospital."

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes- he was a lot of things, but he was fairly competent in Apparation. He grasped Hermione's hunched over body and focused on the waiting room of St. Mungos. With a spin they were off to the hospital.

The hospital was relatively quiet that night, with the horrid medicinal cold smell that places like that seemed unable to wash away. Draco frowned around the room as Hermione gripped him, her tense body turned in on itself like wand ready to fire a hex. This was the place that Draco had wanted to avoid when he was sick and now by fate he was here. No good was going to come of this- only publicity. Why hadn't either of them thought of Tory? Draco's mind was rushing with thoughts, and it seemed as though Hermione couldn't speak except for puffs of air and his name. Suddenly Draco wanted to laugh hysterically- if everyone in the world had been _Obliviated _right now it would look like Hermione and he were married and this was his baby. _Great._

Down the hall, not a moment too late, came the welcome witch to take their information, quill and parchment in hand. She looked as though she was ready to make them wait until the Cannons won a championship, but as soon as she saw Hermione and Draco she nearly squealed. Draco recognized her type-she was wearing the standard welcome witch attire, and she had added bright glittering Yule pins to her large bosom. She also looked as though most likely brought Witch Weekly every week, and probably followed Harry and Draco's fictitious magazine relationship with an obsession bordering on lust.

Draco rolled his eyes so far back in his head that he nearly fainted.

"Mrs. Weasley is about to give birth," Draco said, hoping to cut off her fawning- thank all the gods he hadn't gotten ill. _Keep it together for Granger._ "She needs a private room to have her child."

"But, Mr. _Malfoy_," the witch said, fawning over Draco's last name in a way that officials hadn't done since the time of his childhood. "Private rooms are reserved for critical cases- I could get in trouble for that."

Draco bit down his disdain and tossed out his most charming smile- the one that usually got Harry to do the washing up and perform whatever sexual favors that Draco wanted.

"I'm sure you can figure something out," Draco said winningly, flashing his teeth when he wanted to growl. "You seem so . . . clever."

Hermione got her private room to have her baby. Healers came quickly to see her, and Draco left the room to do something useful_. Anything _rather than seeing Granger indecent in a charmed-filled suite, surrounded by wizards she had just met, as they _touched_ her.

It was really all too much.

Draco decided to Floo the Dispatch to try and locate Harry and Ron, but they said it would be rather difficult as they were on duty and on rounds. The Ministry offered to send a distress charm to their wands, but even that could take some time as it was rather difficult to locate a moving target- much like throwing a dart at a flying broom. Draco thought about fire calling the Burrow, but he had such a contentious relationship with the Weasleys that Draco figured it was best that Ron himself was to tell his family that his daughter was born. Besides, he wasn't sure about the etiquette for seeing a newborn baby. Wasn't the father supposed to be first? Oh well- Draco couldn't shut his eyes for Ron now.

Finally, a harried young Healer came out of the suite. Draco frowned at him. He looked entirely too _young_. If he was seventeen then Draco owned an offering to the gods.

"You can go in if you like," the under aged Healer declared. Draco lifted a shoulder and followed the Healer into the private room.

Hermione was sitting, propped up with thick white pillows to help her stay upright. Without the large bump around her midsection she looked oddly hollow and not as commanding as before- Granger rather liked to throw her metaphorical presence around. The private room was much nicer than the room Harry and Draco had both stayed in, in their separate visits. This suite had a proper bed, a wireless, and a recliner for a visitor- all the creature comforts that Harry had refused to take up when offered, and Draco had of course been denied.

"How do you feel?" Draco asked, searching for the appropriate question to ask a woman who has just had a child. He'd never actually known one, come to think on it, though he'd cared for a baby.

"Hollow," Hermione said softly, reaching for Draco's hand as though she needed a lifeline. "And tired- it didn't hurt much- I was so surprised. I only saw her for a minute, she's got a bit of red hair, like Ron. Her name is Rose."

"Flower names are lovely," Draco smiled a bit awkwardly- thinking of his own mother, named after a flower and living in France, and in her own bubble of contentment. "Will they bring her back to you?"

"They're testing her for illnesses," Hermione yawned- her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted. "Thank you." Draco laughed- "What for?"

"You helped me," Hermione smiled. "You're my friend- I needed you and you helped me. It goes beyond the study, doesn't it?"

Draco didn't answer, he simply squeezed Hermione's hand. His throat was thick.

* * *

Draco had fallen asleep on the recliner when Harry, Ron, and two of the Weasley brothers, George and Bill, had come.

Draco cast _tempus_ with his wand- it was six in the morning and he had gotten next to nothing of sleep, just a few hours in a chair.

He had seen the baby with Hermione and held her- she was pretty and fat, two things that made babies rather adorable. She also had chubby rounded feet and closed hands, and a little pursed mouth that looked like Granger's when someone disagreed with her. She was adorable and perfect, though Draco reserved that opinion for his mental notations. The mediwitches had taken her away again for her feedings so that Hermione could sleep, and Draco had Floo'd the Dispatch again before falling into a restless sort of nap-sleep.

"She's beautiful," Ron said now, his eyes looked red- "She's so beautiful, Hermione. So beautiful."

"It's been going on for awhile," George Weasley snorted to no one, as if he wanted Draco to know, but didn't deign to address him, "Nine months of gratitude in one hour. You should have Transfigured flowers. Or at least taken something from the back of the shop."

Draco rather agreed but he kept his mouth shut-in fact he was waiting for the perfect time to make his exit. The last thing that he needed was yet another confrontation with a member of the Weasley clan, especially in front of Harry.

"Did you bring her to the hospital?" Bill Weasley growled and Draco bit his lip. _Awkward_ most certainly described his feelings right now. _Guilty_ as well. No matter how many years passed, and no matter the myriad of snubs and the multitude of judgments that the Weasleys passed over him, Draco would still feel guilty- he would always feel horrible. The Weasleys could strike out at him now and make him feel low, but Draco had dealt the first blow and he had done the most damage. There was no going back from that now.

"Yes," Draco said evenly, looking away from Bill Weasley's eyes. "She was at Grimmauld Place."

Bill Weasley nodded as though that confirmed some fact about Draco that hadn't previously been brought to light. Then the other Weasley, George, looked serious, something that never happened. It was as though a moved had been played, and Draco couldn't quite see the strategy.

Draco rose from the recliner, stretching his legs. Harry was talking to Hermione, and Draco watched them for a moment, before deciding not to interrupt their conversation.

"I'm going to get some coffee," Draco declared to the room at large- copying a scroll from the Weasley's library. "I haven't slept all night."

Draco made his way quickly to the lift, passing the rest of the Weasley clan. St Mungo's had a strict rule about the number of visitors to a room so Draco supposed they were all rotating. All of the bovine witches of the family were there- that cow Fleur Weasley was sat along with Ginny Nott and her husband, alongside Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. A few of them attempted something like a smile at Draco, especially Nott- they had grown up in the same circles, though they had never been too friendly. As soon as Nott's hag saw him daring to nod in Draco's direction, though, she gripped his arm so tightly it looked as though it would grow talons. And that was the death of the only hello it seemed Draco would get from the family.

Draco sighed and kept walking toward the lift.

The canteen was relatively empty at six in the morning. A lone wizard was restocking the chocolate frogs from a giant box, and there wasn't anything out but coffee, tea, and croissants. Draco grabbed some toast and some black coffee and sat down and the dimmest corner booth. He had been pleased for Hermione and her baby's birth, and he had felt even closer to her than ever, which had been sincerely heartwarming until the intrusion of the real world. Hermione was a Weasley, and the rest of the Weasleys would never accept Draco, _could _never accept him. Draco would always be an outsider. He had made himself one, partially. Or he had been born one because of the blood feud. Whatever it was, Draco was too tired to care.

Except for his relationship with Harry. Everyone knew that Harry considered himself a Weasley in all but name and if Draco couldn't hack it as faux Weasley then he would be flying on a twig-less broom.

Draco took a sip of his black coffee and grimaced- it tasted _horrible_- Pepper-Up would have been preferable.

Someone cast a shadow over Draco and he looked up. It was Harry.

He was dressed in his Auror uniform but it was crumpled and dirt-stained. Draco didn't need to be a genius to know that Harry was most likely on a raid or a stake-out all night. It felt absurd, but Draco sent up a quick thanks to the gods that this time they had spared Harry from injury unlike that time all those years before. Sometimes Draco still thought about horrible days in the hospital with Harry, which it was even worse actually being at St. Mungo's himself.

"Hard night?" Harry asked, sliding across from Draco. "Hermione said that you didn't even panic, you just slid into work- and that you even charmed the welcome witch into giving her a private room. Slytherin."

"Ah, Harry Potter saying Slytherin like it's a good thing," Draco yawned tiredly. Even a pun was becoming hard work. "It was easy. The witch one was one of those fawning celebrity types, and Granger needed my help at the moment. As for a hard night, you look bloody exhausted yourself."

"Hmm," Harry agreed, "Can't talk about the case yet- I haven't been debriefed, it's high profile, _blah blah_ the usual. Nothing too dangerous though, Malfoy- in the end he wasn't very good at dueling. A decent second year could have taken him down, I just suppose none had actually attempted it."

"Don't underestimate your skill, Potter," Draco bit back a yawn, literally.

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, looking at Draco- his eyes were soft but very intense. He had been doing that quite a bit lately, and Draco wasn't sure what to make of it. Sometimes at night after they had shagged he could feel Harry's hand sliding through his hair and he would turn and Harry would be looking at him with some sort of unreadable expression. It was more than his usual love and lust and desire- it was something Draco didn't quite understand. If Draco had had a closer relationship with Granger he might have pestered her into letting Draco in on whatever was bothering Harry, but as it was Draco was going to have to let things play out as they were going. Draco was just hoping on his tea leaves that Harry's brooding silences just meant that he was thinking, not spoiling for a row.

"Do you want to go up and see Hermione and the Weasleys?" Draco asked, as the silence became heavy and thick. _Odd night._ "I'm going to go home and sleep this off, but you should stay if you'd like."

"No," Harry said perked up as though he had been waiting for Draco to say something to awaken from his daydream. "I want to go home with you- I can see them later and Hermione's exhausted as well. Let's go home together."

Draco found himself beaming-he wasn't sure what exactly what was going on but he liked the little changes that they both were making. Draco bumped Harry's hip playfully and they walked out of the hospital hand in hand as the sun rose.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Hey guys! Thanks again for all the reviews and I'm glad that you all liked the last chapter, especially since it was basically a sweet little in-between chapter to cement some relationships forming before some real drama unfolds again. __SkylerKnight- your review was awesome- I should have written an alternate chapter with a StillEvil!Draco leaving Hermione behind like some type of parody with a growling Bill chasing him. But I don't know if this story's Draco would find it amusing. He's too grown up for fun. Oh well. _

* * *

Chapter 23:

Harry turned his head from his left side and to his right. The sun was coming through the old, thick glass of Grimmauld Place, shinning through onto his arm in a triangular pattern, chasing away the cold that even the warming charms couldn't heat. The winter was here. Harry liked the winter most of all- he liked the Yule holidays, he liked Mrs. Weasley's mullied cider, he liked the way Draco did up all the rooms even though Teddy was getting too old to appreciate his effort. Harry smiled to himself. This year was going to be better than all the ones that had come before.

Harry was going to make sure of it.

A hand trailed up Harry's backside, and Harry fought hard not to shiver. _Tease._ Harry was half-melted into the mattress, more mercury from a potion than a real-life wizard, all from the shagging they had done early this morning. Harry had had to beg for this Friday off in front of all the trainees and half of the junior Aurors, chasing Robards down the hall as he went home to his daughters, but it had been worth it. It had been worth Ron's sniggering and Harry's bruised ego- just to have Draco do _that thing_ with his tongue all over _there_ for so long that Harry had thought his eyes would stay permanently rolled back.

Not that he would ever admit it to Draco, of course.

"Can you feel that?" Draco's touch was feather light, and Harry's senses had to strain all along his spine, tingling along where he touched, his whole body awakening as if from a dream. _Yeah,_ Harry thought dazedly.

Harry nodded roughly instead, jostling the sun-shadow triangle that was warming his arm. He felt like he was both drifting away _and_ being aroused and the sensations were oddly complimentary. It had been a while since Harry had felt this comfortable, this serene. Everything lately had been about everything else- about work, and tiding up as many high-profile cases, and corresponding paperwork before the Yule season came up and everyone went on holiday. Or about Rosie, and Hermione needing a rest to shop. _Or_ about Draco's study and that perennial holdup. It just never seemed to be about them anymore.

And of course Harry's plans for-

"What did I write, then?" Draco asked, a pout in his voice. Harry could feel the brush of Draco's hair against his calf; the inside of his knee. Draco had trimmed it a little recently, and for some reason Harry had felt ridiculously bereft when he'd seen the result.

"Write?" Harry repeated in a soft murmur. Harry didn't understand the question.

There was a shuffle, and then Draco _slapped_ his right bum check rather forcefully. What had been a bit of arousal was once more a full-blown desire. Draco was being _naughty_. Harry shifted against the sheets that had been half-removed from the mattress earlier in the morning, trying unsuccessfully for some type of relief. In his mind's eye he was already imagining possibilities for Draco's newly-grasped reigns, and at the same time Harry wanted nothing more than to throw Draco down onto the stained duvet again and let him know who was flying this carriage.

"Pay attention, Potter," Draco's voice was sharp. It was a teacher's voice- the type of cadence that didn't need a _sonorus_ to carry though a crowded room. It brimmed with authority. Harry wanted to kiss him, hold him, _bite_ him, take him.

"Sorry," Harry huffed out, slightly annoyed, hoping that it would provoke a bit. It did- Harry got a pinch for his effort this time, which made him suck in a bit of shallow air through his teeth. _Better and better._

Draco was tracing the edge of his nail against Harry's sore, delicate skin in slow agonizing strokes. Because the skin there, on the rise of his backside, had so recently been enflamed Harry could feel every ridge of Draco's bitten nails as though he was seeing them in front of himself, magnified. It was bizarre, wonderful, _magical._ Somehow, it was becoming both sexual and non-sexual- it was a message, and a connection. Harry rather felt as though he was become the world's best sheet of parchment.

And then Draco's stopped.

Harry realized what Draco had written out, belatedly as he came down from the coast of emotions.

Harry flushed a bright crimson that he knew wasn't because of the sun heating his face. He had thought that Draco was naughty before, but that was positively _filthy._

Harry flipped himself over eagerly on the mattress, his foot tugging the sheet down onto the floor, as it got trapped about his leg like a sock. As Harry smiled up at Draco Malfoy's lewd little grin, he knew that the marriage debate was no longer a debate but a declarative moan.

* * *

"Harry?"

_Damn him._ Draco had ears like a crup.

"Where are you going?" Draco was sitting in front of the fire, the flames painting his darker hair red with color. Harry smiled- for once Draco wasn't reading a heavy tome for his study; instead, he was glancing at a novel suspiciously, as if he was a bit ashamed to enjoy it.

"Occasion Alley," Harry said. "Hermione was having little robes made for Rosie, and since we're having the new broom made for Teddy, I thought I might look in on it while I pick up her package."

"Hmm," Draco replied, not looking up from his book. "Well, I hope you're not making yourself another broom, Potter. Just wait for Quidditch season and the teams will send you one, and gods willing some box seats."

Harry frowned. He should have thought of another lie, especially since he didn't have the slightest clue about Teddy's broom- but Harry wasn't much of a good liar, and he wasn't much of one for plans. Draco and Hermione tended to plan his life now- one in one way, and one in the other, and what they couldn't settle between them, Harry and Ron had to fend for themselves. But Harry _really_ didn't have time to stand here and muse about how interconnected their lives had ended up, if he didn't pick up Draco's bloody engagement ring he was going to have to wait until the New Year to propose and Harry didn't think he had the constitution to wait _that_ much longer.

"I'll be back," Harry said, rushing into the library, to use the other Floo so that Draco could not hear over the fire in the sitting room. Thankfully, as soon as he threw in his handful of Floo powder it roared to life and did not remain a crisping, average red, denoting the fact that the shop was closed.

"R. Bradley Haversmith's, Jeweler's!" Harry called out into the flames.

The shop was in the plush, luxurious style of the few shops that could afford to keep posh apartments on Occasional Alley. Inside the store had long velvet chaise lounges in crushed red velvet and on the walls were various Haversmiths who had been jewelers to famous celebrity clientele in their day- Harry had the sinking suspicion that if Draco said yes that Mr. R. Bradley would be tacking his photo on the wall as another success case. The first time Harry had come he had been offered champagne, or sparkling water, and Mr. R. Bradley had worked for the three hours on the ring, perfecting it down to the last detail.

"Ah," a young witch smiled, jolting Harry to the present. "Mr. Potter! My father left me in charge for the afternoon to meet with you. I hope you're not disappointed."

"Not at all," Harry sighed in relief. "I'm late."

"It's no issue, sir," the young witch walked over to one of the paintings and waved her wand in a very complex motion. The painting was no painting at all- in fact it was a warded wall safe. After a few more moments of breaking the curse her father had placed on the lock box, the young woman produced a red leather box with a gold trim.

"We thought it appropriate," she smiled mischievously. "If you would like to view the rings, sir?"

"Please," Harry said nervously.

There were two silvery bands in the box, each thrumming with their own source of faint light. Harry picked one up faintly and smiled; this one definitely had his own magical signature, it felt a bit like holding a diluted wand. Harry dropped it and held the other. _That_ was the one- it was like being flooded with light, and love, sarcasm, and intelligence. It was Draco. Harry slipped that one in his pocket and put the other back into the box, alone.

"Platinum inlaid with wizard hair, of course," the witch said, checking her parchment slip. "One diamond in each, on the inside of the band, with additional protection charms and sympathetic magic. Is that right?"

"Right," Harry said hoarsely. "Perfect."

"Good luck," the witch smiled. "But you'll be fine."

* * *

The ring was burning a hole in Harry's pocket- and he'd just gotten home. He wanted so much to be wearing his ring, the one that had been fused with the bit of Draco's hair that Harry had had to pick through his pillow to get to charm it; but more than that he wanted Draco to be wearing his- to feel how much Harry loved him and wanted to be with him, and how Harry felt _finally_. Plus it _would_ make Harry feel better, knowing that Draco had a low-lying protection charm around him at all times. But he couldn't bloody well just go upstairs and slip on a ring, now could he? Not until Yule. And not unless Draco said yes.

_Merlin_. Now Harry knew how Ron felt. It was awful.

"Was the shop closed?" Draco asked, coming down from the window box with a bundleof herbs in his hand.

"No," Harry said, and then promptly shut his mouth. He was putting his foot in it again, and Draco was going to catch him out when he didn't have anything for baby Rosie. But thankfully Draco hadn't noticed for once that Harry was making an arse out of himself; he was too busy looking at the post in his other hand.

No. At one letter in particular.

"Draco," Harry said. Draco looked a bit pale, and Harry felt the first tendrils of worry climb up his spine. "Darling, are you alright?"

Draco didn't answer, instead he sunk onto the rocker, nearly crushing Allison who had to dash off of the cushion in order to escape being sat on.

"Malfoy," Harry shouted, far more sharply than he had intended to, because of his fear. When Draco looked up his face was ashen. Harry rushed over to his side and knelt down, cupping his face.

"What is it," Harry said, stroking his cheek. "What's wrong?"

"My mother," Draco began and Harry felt a cold bath of dread. "My mother is coming to England on holiday."

Narcissa Malfoy was coming three days before Yule. Harry didn't even want to think what this meant for his proposal to Draco, in fact he didn't want to even think about the woman herself, who could just run off to France and then decide after nearly nine years that she wanted to rebuild her relationship with her son. Sure, she had kept in touch with Draco through letters and the extremely rare Floo, but Harry thought that it was absurd for her to show up now, just when their lives were settling down, and demand a space in it. In fact Harry had felt so badly for Draco and his post-War situation that as soon as he had a real grasp of it all, he had tried to make friendly with Malfoy. What was Narcissa's excuse?

It seemed Draco was right about her, sadly. She was good for saving lives, not for being a part of them in the long term.

But all of this didn't excuse the way that Harry was feeling right now. Being vicious and terrible wasn't going to solve anything- in fact Harry was acting the same way that he didn't want Draco to treat the Weasleys. But Harry couldn't help but feel this way, even though it was so far removed from logic it would need to Apparate to get there.

There was also a huge part of Harry that was very insecure and terrified that Draco could be influenced by his mother to drop him. Andromeda had disliked Harry, and that had caused some strain, but that was nothing compared to a mother, wasn't it? Harry didn't know, and without anything to reference he felt as though he was alone on some island, without his lover's companionship. What would happen if Andromeda took one side and Narcissa another? Or Narcissa was cruel about Teddy? Draco would _never_ stand for that, Harry knew that, Teddy meant the world to him-

"Harry please," Draco said with some amusement in his voice. "If you're going to be broody, you can do it in the guest room. I'm trying to sleep."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, curling into Draco's side. "I love you."

"I love you, too, idiot," Draco said fondly, picking up Harry's arm from his side and draping it across his hip. "Nothing can change _that._"

Harry smiled widely and rubbed his face into Draco's shoulder. Maybe Draco understood more than he let on. Harry wished with regret of hindsight that he'd said something to Draco about his feelings before his mum had written. What a mess. "I really, _really_ love you. Loads, Malfoy."

Draco rolled over and stretched, yawning massively. In a few hours they would have to go and meet Narcissa Malfoy for tea, but not yet. Harry watched him, admiring the play of muscles and bones and how the skittered under his skin as he moved; Draco had an easy, lazy sort of grace that made Harry feel too clunky and too muscular by comparison. Harry traced an hand across a collarbone, and down, bypassing the nipple. Draco opened his mouth slightly; he had one crooked bottom tooth and Harry loved to trace it while they were kissed.

"Good morning," Harry murmured, climbing over Draco and bumping Draco's nose with his own.

"Morning," Draco winked, and bit down on Harry's bottom lip. Harry forgot all about his nerves after that. "_Good_ morning."

* * *

Harry and Draco walked into the Imperial Tea Room holding hands. Even Draco looked bored; maybe a fifteen year old Draco Malfoy would have sat with his parents and eaten petit fours and drank tea at the Imperial, but Harry's Draco was more likely to go down to the Red Responders on a night off from the study and have a pint with Harry, Ron, Sampson and Landry.

The Imperial was a horrid, gaudy gold leaf palace with stiff backed chairs that only men with handle bar mustaches and smoking robes would love. As soon as Draco sat down he pulled out a fag; usually Harry would have scolded him half-heartedly, but today he let Draco smoke to his heart's content in peace- it was bad enough that Harry only had tea to content himself with and no addiction that could calm his nerves.

Draco switched his fag to the other hand with the ease of someone who had settled into a habit they had no intention of breaking, despite all other talk to the contrary. He took Harry's hand again and squeezed his fingers softly.

"You haven't got nerves, have you?" Draco scoffed. "It's just the woman you thought once looked as though she smelled something awful.."

"Do you _always_ have to do that?" Harry frowned.

"What do I do?" Draco smiled softly. "Don't give her an inch, Harry. She thrives on things like that. She's a dragon. She likes to feel in control-"

There she was. Narcissa Malfoy looked as though she hadn't aged in all the years that she had been away, the white-blonde hair pulled away from her face into in an elaborate low chignon. She looked like Draco, but only in snatches- the corners of her lips, the way she tilted her head, the slope of her forehead. Without their distinctive hair color in common, Draco looked original and striking. Mrs. Malfoy, however, looked like any other wealthy society wife.

"Mother," Draco said evenly- it was the same voice Harry got when he let Teddy paint in the library on top of Draco's texts. "How lovely to see you."

"You smoke cigarettes," Mrs. Malfoy said, sitting down. "How remarkably "_Muggle_, Draco. I'm shocked."

"Are you?" Draco said blithely, lighting another fag. _Oh no, _Harry scolded Mrs. Malfoy in his head. _Bad move._ "Shocked by that? Not by the fact I sleep with men? That I lived with your estranged sister? Or that I helped to raise her grandson, with his dreadfully _sullied_ blood?"

Harry whipped his head over to Draco. Harry longed to say _something, _but once Draco started on a path, he was not to be deterred, whether it was detrimental or not. Harry sighed. He hoped this was the right way to handle Mrs. Malfoy's visit.

Draco smiled at Harry. "More tea?"

"What-er-no, darling," Harry said, only catching Mrs. Malfoy's wince out of the corner of his eye. Merlin, Harry felt as though he were watching an elaborate tennis match from afar.

"I'm no longer surprised by the depths to which you will sink for attention, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy said snidely, deftly snatching away his cigarette with her long fingers. Draco didn't fight _that _action. "You were always the sort of child to whom a mother could never say no. Look what happened the one time I asked you to do something for me? _Anarchy._"

Draco looked to the ceiling and then looked back down. "If I'm such a disappointment to you, Mother, why come looking for me? Why, after nearly a decade of being gone?"

Narcissa Malfoy pursed her lips and didn't say a word. Draco snorted. "See," Draco said, throwing his napkin over his teacup. "I _tried._ Can we go home, Harry? Hermione and Rose were going to come over, and infantile behavior looks so much better coming from an actual _infant._"

Harry led Draco out of the tea room, but before he did, he turned around and looked at Narcissa Malfoy once again. Something was definitely _wrong_ with the witch- she seemed so sad and lost; but Harry was not getting involved this time, despite his conscience's twinges. Harry and Draco had just gotten their relationship back on track, the last thing he needed was Draco's madcap mum making trouble this Yule.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: Excuse the lateness and imperfectness of this chapter, Sandy came over my place in the NYC area. If you see that biatch, tell her she left a load of dirt and debris at my house and she hasn't picked it up yet. Also can you remind her that she borrowed my heat and my hot water and she hasn't returned it. So rude omg. Anyway. If you like this chapter, please review. I'm gonna go back to huddling under my blankets. _

_(At least I missed school.)_

* * *

Chapter 24:

"This tea tastes like arse," Draco frowned, sipping the fowl concoction that Hermione had dropped in front of him.

"It's a metabolism booster," she responded, with a look that wasn't exactly warm-hearted at her slumbering daughter.

"I don't need my metabolism boosted," Draco sighed. "Don't you have any proper wizarding tea? I can't bear my soul to two witches if one of them is asleep and the other is trying to feed me some sort of laxative."

"It _isn't_ a laxative!" Hermione protested. "It's got ginseng and some other Chinese herbs. Luna said it had thermomagic properties, and that was how she lost the weight after having the twins. Oh Malfoy, _do _stop laughing! I'll have you know that in the States they are undergoing Stage 2 trails for a type of male pregnancy. So maybe one day you or Harry will know what it's like to walk a mile in our shoes."

Draco peeked under the table. "Shit shoes, Granger. Harry's got two god children. If he wants any more bottom feeders about, he can _accio_ the sperm out of me while I'm sleeping."

"Crude!" Hermione cried, throwing a napkin at Draco's head, which fluttered lamely to the middle of the table before reaching him. "Less about your bizarre sex life with my best mate and more about why you're over here today. Is something going on with you and Harry?"

"Merlin, Granger," Draco snorted, rising from the table and heading to her kitchen. Draco wasn't on the level of friendship which meant that he could wander about their flat without invitation, but he had been here often enough that he knew where everything was. Right now he was just provoking. Gryffindors were easy prey, but he was bored_._ "If I was having a row with Harry," Draco sighed; picking though cabinets until he found something tasty, "Which I'm not, I'd be talking to Tory or Cho, not you."

"Glad I know where I stand," Hermione sniffed, though she did looked rather relieved that they weren't reverting back to their old manner of quarreling and then getting back together. "Oh, for Merlin sake, Draco- pass us a crisp."

Draco rolled his eyes and opened up the bag in between them on the dining room table. "Does thermomagic tea burn off chipotle flavored crisps, do you think?" he sassed, just to annoy her.

"Bastard," Hermione grumbled. "You're worse than Ron and Harry put together. Why _are _you here at ten in the morning anyway- usually you're basking in the afterglow of a shag, or you are figuring out loopholes we can use to our advantage in the Ministry's filing system."

Draco couldn't say anything to that- usually he _would_ be doing either of those things. Draco stuffed another crisp into his mouth. They were _never _going to get funding for their study. They were never going to get funding, and one day the Ministry was going to haul him in for questioning regarding his probation, and Harry was going to come up with him, and duel the officer in charge of his case, and Harry was going to knock the man unconscious. Then the wizard was going to take the case to the Wizengamot, and Harry was going to be let off, of course, but only with probation. Unless Harry lost his job. In which case the entire wizarding world would set a _Trace,_ and capture Draco, and then feed him to a manticore.

Ugh. Draco had to stop taking _Dreamless Sleep. _The dreams only came during the day whenever he did.

It was his mother. Didn't all wizards' issues start with their mums?

This whole situation was like being blasted with a hex while you were sleeping- proper duelists just didn't _do_ those sorts of things. Draco didn't even know what to think- to say that he resented his mother for leaving was an understatement. For a long time his life had been so hectic, and so full of his own nonsense, that he hadn't had the time to even want or miss his mother as she had been, before the madness of the Dark Lord. But now that his life was calming down, she thought she could waltz back in and play Morgana over his world? It was absurd.

"It's my mother," Draco said shortly. "I'm sure that Harry's told you she's come back into town."

Hermione nodded, though she had the good grace too look at _least_ a bit shamefaced. Draco wondered idly how much she'd had to pry before he'd cracked. Then again, with all that information inside him, Harry would have been like a hard boiled egg, and all she would have had to do was _peel_ back a layer to get at it. Draco was annoyed, but he wasn't _annoyed. _Still, he could use these events against Harry in some way. Washing up, or finally clearing the soot out the Floo. Draco _wasn't_ doing that. That was a job for _Potters_ it wasn't a task for _Malfoys-_

"Harry seems to think that she's in a bad way, in some fashion or another. Couldn't you talk to her, Draco?" Hermione said tentatively, measuring her words.

"I know what Harry thinks," Draco said wryly, taking a sip of his butterbeer. "I also know my mother- and getting involved is only going to make for more trouble. Could _you_ ever imagine putting your daughter in the position that my parents left me in with the Dark Lord?"

Hermione blanched and looked over at Rose's soft pink and white baby skin, and her mop of reddish curls. "She did save your life," Hermione conceded, as though it pained her to say it. Apparently Hermione had forgiven the son, but not the mother. "You owe her that much, Draco."

"Everything I was, was because she taught me to think that way," Draco said stiffly, horrified to the depths of his Pureblood soul that he was admitting this to Hermione _Granger_. Mad world. Maybe he should have gone to see Cho, even though she was hung over. "I find that very hard to forget."

"If I ever made a mistake," Hermione said. "I wouldn't want Rosie to resent me forever. And I don't think that you or Harry would want Teddy to feel that way about either of you. There's no magic that can undo the past- well, at least none that wasn't destroyed, anyway."

Granger could glare very pointedly without actually _glaring_. "Alright, Granger. Only because Yule is the day after tomorrow. And then after that I'm really closing the chapter on all of this."

A shrill cry tore through the air.

"Children," Hermione muttered. "I don't think I'll have any more- _don't _tell Ron or Harry that!"

* * *

Draco walked up to the Imperial Hotel and Spa in Muggle jeans and one of Harry's jumpers, with one of his new pea coats thrown over- at least he thought it was Harry's jumper, in any case. Draco liked the shade of green of it so much so he wore it all the time, even though it was too big on him. Harry tended to do that too- he had taken Draco's best new set of vests and stretched them with his too large-chest. Draco hadn't said anything because for one, Harry had paid for them, and for two, Harry looked fit in them. Really, _really_ fit. Potter, the bloody bastard, knew it in one of his intuitive Slytherin moves.

Old pointed hat hotels such as these always had _robes only_ requirements, which were really very archaic- even Hogwarts was revising its winter uniform. But everywhere made an exception for Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter's lover- no where wanted to annoy Harry and thus possibly lose out on his business, and the business of Harry's friends as well. Draco smiled to himself- Harry would be photographed _incarcerated, _before setting foot in such a monument to pureblood grandiosity as the Imperial. Harry would feel awkward just walking through the front door, bless him.

"May I help you, sir?" the welcome witch asked too brightly, and too deferentially from behind her desk. _Lovely_. Someone who read the tabloids.

"I'm looking for Narcissa Malfoy," Draco sighed. "Can you tell me which room she is staying in?"

"Oh, your mother?" the witch said _far_ too chattily. Draco hated when people thought that could talk to him like they were his best mate, all because they owned a copy of _News of the Globe. _"She's under Narcissa Black. And it's room 312, sir. Would you like me to show you up?"

"No, I'm perfectly capable of operating a lift on my own," Draco hissed.

He couldn't believe it- his mother was going by Narcissa _Black_; a name that hadn't been her own since the time she was seventeen; as though his father had never even existed! Oh, his father was no saint by far, but what was his mother- leaving Draco to deal with the hospitalization and the aftermath, and the press, and the madness all on his own as though he hadn't mattered, either. If Draco ever had any children . . .

The lift pinged open.

Mother was in the room, wearing what was for her day robes. Draco snorted to himself. For anyone who hadn't been raised an heiress in a pre-War world, something like what Narcissa _Black _was wearing would have been saved only for special occasions. She looked at Draco with a blank expression, but Draco could tell that she was happy to see him; she wouldn't have opened the bloody door otherwise.

"Mother," Draco said awkwardly, he had been raised to disguise his emotions but it had been a long time since Draco had actually had put it all into practice. His face actually felt funny trying it on. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Mother said, opening up the door.

For a moment, Draco saw his mother's suite at the Manor as though they were still standing in Wiltshire. Mother had had a huge Japanese armoire, which had three interlocking tables in descending size order that were inlaid with semi-precious stones, that Father that gotten her after she had given birth to him. On the opposite wall, were the huge casement windows with their gauzy white and gold curtains, which had opened up to the garden below to a view of the statue of Artemis. That was so bizarre- it had been years since Draco had thought of the Manor, and yet, with the right cue he could pull from his mind a room in intricate detail.

Draco blinked and the room became an impersonal, plush hotel suite once more.

"Would you like some champagne?" Mother said, levitating a bottle out of the ice bucket and onto the table.

"No, thank you." Draco said, desperately wishing he could smoke, and yet not reaching into his pocket for the all too-tempting cigarette. This was becoming ridiculously strained- what on earth had Draco been thinking, taking Granger's advice?

"How long will you be staying in London?" Draco asked, hoping it came off as a neutral question, and not as though he was booting her from town.

"I haven't decided yet," Mother said evenly. "I might even come back to stay."

_Great._ Draco thought miserably. _Just bloody great._

* * *

"Your sister might be coming to live in London," Draco said, standing on a step stool and passing a dusting charm over Aunt Andromeda's Muggle fan. "Permanently."

"Sounds ominous," Aunt Andromeda sighed, tapping one of the legs of the stool as a sign for Draco to come down. "But I'd be lying to you, Draco, if I said that I wasn't surprised. Oh- don't bother folding up the stool, dear. Tea?"

"Please," Draco said. Then he sat down at the dining table and paused. "What do you mean that you aren't surprised, Aunty?"

Aunt Andromeda took an abnormally long time answering. Firstly, she cast an lightening and shrinking charm on the stepping stool, and then put it away in the cutlery drawer. Secondly, she set the water to boil with a spell, and then she _accio_'d down two mugs. And then finally, she took out the tin of biscuits and set aside a few on a plate for Teddy for later, for when he came in from playing in the snow. After running out of all of these time-exhausting moves, Aunt Andromeda pulled out the chair across from Draco and sat down with her mug of tea.

"Draco," Aunt Andromeda said carefully. "What do you know about your mother's lover?"

"That he exists," Draco sniffed, thinking of his mother's infamous lover the _Duc._ "I'm assuming you know something more?"

"Not very much more," Aunt Andromeda said, raising her hands palm up. "But Charlene Knackbridge does. And we use the same hairstylist. The wizard in question is _married_, Draco. And apparently his wife just found out that her husband has a long-time mistress."

"Ah," Draco said, swallowing his tea. "So it was my mother or the wife and the French wizard chose his wife?"

"No," Aunty smiled grimly. "Nothing so interesting. He wants to have his cauldron and his vial, from what I understood whilst I was under drying spells. He wanted your mother to go on an extended holiday, all the expenses paid while he took care of whatever he needed to with his wife."

"That's-" _Something I never needed to know._

"Isn't it just?" Aunt Andromeda smiled grimly. "Thank the gods you never have to worry about anything like that ever happening to you."

* * *

Draco fluffed Harry's hair one way, and then huffed out a laugh. The wireless was on a very good drama show that took place in a fictitious Minister's office; but neither Draco, nor Harry were paying particular attention. Harry was not so subtly trying to seduce Draco. Draco was pretending to be engrossed by whatever monologue was on the airwaves, but he couldn't help but notice all the stunts that Harry was pulling in a bid to be noticed- he had begun firstly by shifting his torso back and forth on Draco's legs. Now Harry had progressed to biting his lip, and looking up at Draco through his dark lashes, and out of his amazing green eyes. Draco wondered if in a few minutes Harry would stand up and shrug off his clothes, tossing them over the wireless itself.

Not that that was a bad idea.

Draco sighed. He still wasn't quite sure how or _if _he wanted to mention to Harry that his that his mother was party to an affair. No, _reverso_ that- Draco had learned a long time ago that keeping things inside, and bottled up would only destroy their relationship. It was only- how could he _possibly_ tell Harry that his mother could do something like that; especially when Draco was still dealing with the aftermath of his own choices in the situation with Harry and Algernon. All sorts of thoughts flooded through Draco's mind at the idea- did Draco ever think Harry was capable of something like that? Did Harry ever question _why_ Draco was with him? Maybe Draco had been _ingrained_ to be horrible, and he could no more escape it than Harry could a prophecy.

"Something is wrong." Harry said, poking Draco's ribs gently. "You look as though you're going to be ill, Malfoy. Should I get up?"

"Oh, piss off," Draco huffed. "I went and I saw my mother today. And Aunt Andromeda."

Harry raised his eyebrows, which looked a bit funny upside down. "Not in the same place, surely."

"Merlin, no," Draco sighed. "I went to see my mother first, and then Aunt Andromeda. Actually I saw Granger first, which is what started me off on this weird day- she convinced me to go see my mother. She and Rose."

Harry sat up and rolled his eyes. "How did Hermione and Rose convince you to do anything- never mind that; Hermione and her daughter, that answers it's own question. So what happened with your mother, Draco?"

Draco picked up one of the throw pillows and traced the gold threads with his fingers. "Nothing is wrong with her; in fact Mother was cordial. The problem was when I visited Aunty. Aunt Andromeda heard through a friend why Mother has come back to England. Mother's lover is married, Harry- Mother has been party to this affair pretty much since she landed in France."

"_Merlin_," Harry gasped, then paused himself as though considering Draco's feelings. "What do you think Draco?"

"Very diplomatic, Potter," Draco snorted. "I think the same exact things that you are thinking-that it isn't right, and gods, don't I feel like hypocrite and a sanctimonious prick saying that."

"I don't think I you're being too _Potter_ about this Draco," Harry mock-drawled. Draco laughed, hitting him with the pillow. "I just think that some things are absolutely wrong, you know? If it's wrong, it's wrong."

"I just suppose I'm glad I'm not married," Draco sighed. "Or bonded. It used to make me vaguely ill; imagining all your fans flinging themselves at you bodily. I don't know how people deal with things like this happening to them."

Draco turned to Harry. He was silent, and he looked as though he was a Pensieve version of the real man.

"Merlin, Harry," Draco sighed, wishing he could _sever_ out his tongue. "I didn't mean that! I _know_ you'd never have an affair! I'm just being a complete arse. I suppose that we'll have to get married someday, won't we? The _Prophet_ will go out of business, otherwise. Gods, I've just had a really awful day. Tell me you don't hate me."

"It's alright," Harry laughed, and his voice definitely sounded relieved. "And of _course_ I don't hate you. I despise you. A little."

"As long as you don't hate anyone as much as you hate me," Draco smiled, kissing Harry's nose

"Have I ever?" Harry laughed and threw his arm around Draco's shoulder.


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Hey everyone! I've been chewing this chapter along for a while, I think I've revised it six different ways, and this is the version that me and my sister finally liked the best. So there are literally six versions of this chapter on my drive, isn't that mad? Too much of a Ravenclaw, that's me. Groan. Anyway, moving along. I'm writing a little series now for Christmas, I dunno where it's going to go. It's AS/S, post-Hogwarts, following them during a bad period, as people who were once alike and who are now total opposites. I think it's going to be a really quick, sort series, about 5 parts. We'll see, cross fingers._

* * *

Chapter 25:

Harry was going to be ill.

Downstairs, Hermione, Andromeda, and Ron were dangling soft black and white toys over Rosie's collapsible cradle; while George was trying to figure out how to test his new _Constipation Choccies _on Percy. In the shed in the garden, Charlie was telling Bill all about innovations in pen warding in Romania; while Mr. Weasley proudly displayed all of his new additions to his biro collection to all. Everyone was socializing- it was the bloody _holidays_, after all- everyone except for Harry. Harry was going to be ill. Harry was going to be ill in Ron's old bedroom, staring up at Quidditch players who had long quit their careers due to potions usage, or old age.

Harry's stomach churned. Maybe staring up at the lurid posters wasn't his best move, all things considered.

"Come on, Potter," Harry mumbled to himself, in what was the dullest tone he had ever mustered after fifth year. "Now or never, old Gryffindor. Come along."

But Harry still couldn't get the spell cast- had he been this nervous before the Final Battle? Harry couldn't quite remember as well as he used to, but he didn't think so. Back then Harry had had the confidence of youth on his side, or perhaps, more honestly, it was the certainty that he was going to die. Now that Harry's life was most definitely not in jeopardy, he only had to face Draco. _Lovely._

Harry leaned away from his hips, and rolling onto his side, he pulled out the ring box from his pocket. It shimmered magically, denoting it's force, but Harry couldn't sense the comforting magical core, as it was his own hair in this band. All that Harry was felt was the butterflies in his stomach, fluttering to the beat of _what if Draco says no_? Harry swallowed and closed the box, and took a fortifying breath. Someone downstairs said something and the others cheered in response. Harry knew that he had to get back down there and stand by Draco's side- the Weasleys were more friendly to Draco because of his assistance with Hermione's delivery of Rosie, but things could go bad quickly.

There were steps on the stairs. Harry sat up quickly, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, which he was sure he did not achieve, especially since his hand shook as he ran it through his hair.

"Hey mate," Ron said, noticing Harry alone in what had been his old room. "What are you doing up here? You should be downstairs celebrating by now."

Celebrating? Celebrating _what_?

"The Cannons are up twenty points," Ron continued obliviously, sitting down and shifting the old, thin mattress. Harry felt his stomach shift with the rise and fall of the bed. "You're going to do it, aren't you?"

"Nerves," Harry admitted grimly, with a shrug. "Now I know what you felt like on your wedding day."

"And if you propose," Ron teased. "You'd have to go through the cold feet all over again."

"Cold feet?" George said, peeking into the room. _Great._ "What is Ron reliving his glory days for- oy, Harry what's that?"

Harry covered the ring box on his lap, but it was too late. George's eyes lit up with an unholy malevolence.

"Merlin _and_ Morgana," George whispered. "I knew our Harry wasn't the brightest _lumos _ever casted, but this takes it to another level. Are you _actually _thinking of proposing to Malfoy _this_ Yule? In _this _house?"

"No, he's proposing to torch the WWW," Ron snorted. "Of _course _it's Malfoy, you dumb arse. Now go away if you're going to take the piss, because Harry doesn't need you starting in on that lot downstairs and causing a riot-"

"A riot?" Bill stuck the tip of his scarred chin into the doorway before edging his boot and then his whole body into the room. "Are you _inciting_ a riot? What kind of Auror are you?"

"A lousy one, clearly," Ron sighed dramatically, trying against Fate to get his older brother out of his bedroom. "What are _you_ looking for, Bill?"

"George," Bill pursed his mouth. "Mum wants him to teach her how to set the charms on the camera, so that she can take photographs whilst still being in the pictures. _Anyway_. You don't actually think I believe your riot act, do you? What are you planning, Weasley?"

"Me?" George _could_ look innocent. Then again, he had had a lifetime to perfect that glance. "Oh nothing, nothing. Ask Harry about it. I think you'll be amazed. Actually Harry, why don't you practice on Bill?"

Ron had his wand out. Harry felt nauseous again.

"Ron, put that away, you'll poke your eyes out," Bill stated blandly. "So Malfoy, then. Malfoy, _then._"

"You're taking this well," George frowned as if Bill was the final post before the alley of altruism. "Did Fleur prepare those dragon flanks Charlie sent over?"

"Extra-rare," Bill glared back, nearly shoving George off the cot as he took a seat. "They were lovely, thanks for asking. But I don't have to be worried about Harry, unlike you. Harry hasn't proposed. _If_ he proposes, Malfoy still has to say yes. _If_ Malfoy says yes, then they _still_ have to agree on the ceremony details, which I doubt they will. And _if_ all that happens, which we'll wait and see about- well, by that time, it will be _years_ down the line. I'm just not bothered. Yet."

Harry was gnashing his teeth. "Bill?"

"Hmm?" Bill smiled evenly, and Harry had the decency to lose his nerve. "Something wrong?"

"You lot are in my way," Harry narrowed his eyes at everyone, collectively. "I have to go downstairs. And it _won't _take years. And I'm _happy_ you're not bothered- I hope you'll keep on being _not_ bothered, then."

Harry was so set on brushing back his hair in the old glass that he didn't notice Bill collect six gold coins from his two brothers.

* * *

Draco was holding Baby Rosie.

Harry hadn't accounted for that. In all of Harry's fantasies about the proposal, Draco had been sitting apart from the Weasleys, waiting for Harry to come back, the fairy lights from the tree shining down on his cinnamon brown hair. Harry hadn't really thought this whole proposal through properly, and now the fear had returned full force. Everyone was watching. Well, not _everyone. _George was talking to Angelina, probably telling her what had gone on. Bill was also busy pretending not to watch; and had taken a sudden and deep interest in a toy that Teddy and Louis were struggling with. _Where _had Ron gone- if Harry needed back up- ah, he had gotten a drink. Smart wizard.

Right.

Draco looked at Harry curiously, and when Hermione outstretched her arms for Rosie, Draco handed over the baby without much fuss and took a seat on Mrs. Weasley's saggy old seat beside Teddy.

"Harry," Draco said, making room. "Why don't you sit down- Teddy was going to show us his new exploding snap set."

"Don't you want to see your gift from me?" Harry asked. Harry had practiced that line in his head too, over and over, but it hadn't mattered- his voice had still shook a bit.

"Alright," Draco shrugged, with the nonchalance that only a spoilt Slytherin could manage. "I thought we had left our presents at home. I didn't bring yours with me."

"It's okay," Harry said, and he caught Ron's discreet wink out of the corner of his eye. With a prayer to the same gods that had gotten him out of the Dursleys home and to Hogwarts; Harry took in a deep breath and fished out the small red and gold box that the shop witch had given him what felt like years ago. Harry knelt down and Draco's eyes grew comically large.

"Draco," Harry said, forcing his voice to come out evenly. "I love you more than anything- erm- more than anything in the world, really. So I was wondering if you would please bond with me?"

"_Oh,_" Draco said, opening his mouth, and exposing the uneven bottom teeth Harry loved to trace his tongue across. "_Oh_."

Harry smiled and pulled out the ring and slipped it on Draco's clenched finger. Draco's face became _radiant_ with joy- he looked as though he had drank a potion to achieve that level of happiness. Then, abruptly, he covered his face with his hands and his whole body shook once-twice- and then Draco got up and _flung_ himself at Harry. The extra weight toppled Harry over from his crouched position, and they nearly crashed into Rosie's collapsible cradle, but thankfully someone _accio_'d it out of the way- Harry saw that much out of the corner of his eye.

"Slytherin move," Draco laughed, punching Harry on the arm as he leaned over Harry's body. "What's in that ring?"

"Magic, Malfoy," Harry snarked, relieved and amused in equal measure. "Is this a _yes_, then?"

"Yes, _Potter_," Draco whispered, bending down to kiss Harry, and around him the Weasleys burst into a cascade of muted excitement. "I surrender."

It was the best Yule of Harry's life. Draco was wearing his ring. Hermione thought the band was fascinating, and Harry was sure she would probably take it soon to debunk the magical myths contained in the small hoop. On the other side of the pitch; Bill, George, Fleur, and all the lukewarm Weasleys were thawing a tad now that they saw that Draco was an irrevocable part of Harry's life. No one was exchanging hugs or anything beyond polite conversation, but this was far beyond anything Harry could have imagined a just a year ago. And of course the children were enchanted by Yule- Teddy, Victoire, baby Rosie, and all the rest had loved all their gifts; and were busy setting off pranks, or asking exhausted adults to spell together toys.

Harry had never thought it was possible to be this happy; in fact when he had begun to date Draco he had thought that he would have had to divide his happiness up and parcel it out, not have it all at once, in vast quantities like this. Harry turned to Draco at his side and brushed his leg against Draco's.

"Happy, Potter?" Draco said- no, his _fiancé _said.

Harry beamed and took another sip of his mulled cider. It was rather strong, and he was well on the way to getting drunk. Harry brushed a clumsy hand through Draco's hair and couldn't help but fantasize about the _very_ remote possibility of sneaking away for a shag. There _was_ a bit of trees and some bush- but Draco Malfoy didn't shag on the grass. Harry had learned that the hard way.

Draco leaned his head on Harry's shoulder. "Stop undressing me with your eyes," Draco said, reading Harry's mind. "Especially with your ex in the room."

Ginny _was_ here. Harry hadn't noticed her arrival in the commotion of the Yule festivities. It looked as though she had just arrived, with Nott and her two tiny children in tow. Poor little Nero and Claudia- the little doxies always looked so underfed on account of their father, and Mrs. Weasley was always trying to fatten them up, quite unsuccessfully. Ginny looked pale, and for a moment that worried Harry, but the extravagance of her fur-trimmed robes soon distracted him. The saying referring to a silk purse and a sow's ear sprang to mind.

"Fox fur," Draco drawled, the ice in his drink clinking together as he took another sip. "Cost more than my salary as a teacher for a year. Bloody waste that. What does it warm? A neck? New money. Nott should know better."

"She has a lot to prove," Harry snorted, stroking Draco's leg idly. _Shag._ "To herself, anyway. I'm so happy, Malfoy."

Draco touched the band on his finger with his thumb, and then puffed up visibly. Harry smirked to himself- there was going to be a clear delineation in Draco's ego size- before the engagement, and after.

* * *

Harry woke up to a lazy and happy Boxing Day.

Teddy had wanted to stay over with Harry and Draco to see Harry's Yule gift, which had been rather lovely, as Harry had never actually had Teddy for himself an entire Yule. Teddy, of course, had very much enjoyed the new wireless that Draco had saved up to buy with the gold from the sale of the Darby home- even though it was _supposed_ to be Harry's gift. It had taken nearly half of last night; but Harry and Draco had managed to get the new wireless, and it's massive sound charms to work in and around the old magic of Grimmauld Place, and then Teddy had happily listened to a program with far more violence than even Harry was comfortable with.

That night, after Teddy had gone to bed dreaming of blasting hexes, Harry and Draco had slipped in to bed together and had turned the sheets over each other's heads. They had both been a bit wobbly from the endless reluctant Weasley toasts; so they had had to _shh_ each other constantly to keep from waking Teddy. It was then that Harry's fantasy from earlier in the day was finally fulfilled, though not as spectacularly as Harry had envisioned. In Harry's mind, he had been a commanding and resourceful lover, willing to slay any enemy for Draco. In reality, it wasn't five minutes that he engulfed in the warm cavern of Draco's mouth, before he was biting down on his bottom lip to keep from shouting into the sheets.

In the morning light, Harry smiled and stretched in the bed. Draco was up already- probably getting Teddy his _Wizard Oh's,_ or reading. This was going to be the rest of his life- perfect, forever.

Harry took a quick shower and made his way downstairs. Teddy was sitting glued in front of the wireless as though he was afraid that if he blinked the object would Disapparate. Harry sighed. "Morning Ted," Harry said seriously. "Where's your cousin?"

"Study," Teddy said, cocking his lemon-yellow head toward the general direction of the library. "He made waffles."

Harry grinned- Teddy got waffles, and Harry had gotten what he had gotten last night. Draco was _happy._

Draco was hunched over a heavy looking tome, and he was shaking his head. "I wonder if Tory knows that you can nullify results by the same method as the cross-cancellation theorem? I've got to Floo over and talk to her."

"Draco," Harry said reasonably. "It's Boxing Day."

"Oh yes," Draco smiled. "That's why it's the idea time to modify the results! If you do things why the Ministry is sleeping you can catch all kinds of mathematical errors and you won't lose any time. But if you try to file during the work week all you get are these awful _bureaucratic bottom feeders_ that leech off of decent citizens and then you get the type of situation as what happened at Dismal Alley-"

"Isn't that an extreme generalization?" Harry said, annoyed because under that typecasting as a Ministry employee he too would be a _bottom feeder _whose job was to endlessly file paperwork and waste gold.

Draco beamed brightly and kissed Harry's cheek; reaching for his enormous text. "Remind me to revisit this conversation with you, Harry; you've gotten a perspective that we haven't tapped yet. But I really must go."

"Really, darling?" Harry groaned, adopting what he hoped was a pathetic expression. "Can't you save it for tomorrow?"

"How many times I wish I'd told you that," Draco smiled, dodging Harry's slap. "No, I'll be back before tea, honestly. If I miss this it'll be a disaster- Astoria won't keep me long, I'm not Smith. I'll be right back, really."

Harry went to the kitchen and heated up the waffles a little bit miserably with his wand. Draco had made cinnamon-banana waffles and Harry wished that Draco was here with him to eat them, or at least hear his praise. Harry _accio_'d down the syrup and mentally shook himself. Draco had made waffles, eggs, tea and even a roast a hundred times before, and would live to do so again, touch wand. They would be married, and Harry really needed to stop being morose just because Draco sometimes enjoyed his career more than sitting at home- in fact Draco's career left him more free time than Harry's.

Harry took his plate of waffles and sat down on the sofa across from Teddy. Teddy looked at Harry and raised his chin in acknowledgment before returning to his mid-morning programs.

"Draco went off on some study rot?" Teddy said during the adverts.

"It's not rot," Harry protested firmly. "Your cousin is doing something very serious and important. And you shouldn't even be talking like that."

"Wish he was here," Teddy shrugged, ignoring Harry's scolding- Harry _hated_ when he did that, but it seemed that in a positive or negative way Draco had more of an influence on his godson than Harry did. Draco disagreed and said that Harry was just being overemotional, but sometimes Harry wondered if being absent for bits of Teddy's first year of life had damaged their relationship.

"Me too," Harry sighed, swirling a bit of waffle in the syrup and then biting it. "But he'll be home for tea, or if not definitely for dinner. Do you want to play with your new chess set, do you think?"

"Alright," Teddy perked up, turning off the wireless.

Teddy's new chess set had shining new figures etched in marble, but instead of charmed caricatures out of a fiefdom, it contained criminals and Aurors. None of the criminals looked like any criminals Harry had ever seen during his years on the force-some of them had hunchbacks and others were dressed in black robes with the symbol for gold on the large bags that they were carrying. All of the male Aurors, of course, had a remarkable resemblance to Harry Potter.

Harry was part-way getting through being throttled by his godson when the wards warped. When no one immediately came through to the study upstairs, Harry felt his sixth sense take notice. "Stay here." Harry told Teddy seriously.

Harry practically jumped down the stairs with his wand half out of his holster, but when he reached the landing he realized how utterly foolish he was being. Grimmauld Place was still under _fidelus,_ and no one could enter beyond their small circle of 'family'. Including Narcissa Malfoy.

She was seated primly on the earthy sofa that Hermione had picked out for Harry all those years ago when Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny had started the renovations on Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Malfoy sniffed and picked up one of Draco's Egyptian throws- Harry had the sudden, perverse urge to tell her that her son had picked those out in order to seen her pompous expression fall.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said uncomfortably- Teddy was in the house and Harry had no desire for a scene. "How are you?"

"Very well," Mrs. Malfoy's mouth pursed and she looked almost _amused_. "And you are not a good liar, Mr. Potter. Is my son at home?"

"No," Harry said shortly. "Would you like to leave him a message or wait for him?"

"Not at all," Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "I have a Portkey for within the hour to Paris. I only wanted to speak to you, Mr. Potter. I know I have been . . . remiss in my duties as a parent, but one day, Mr. Potter, you and my son will have children through whatever _means_ and you will come to see that it is a very difficult job, indeed. You _do_ remember the war, and the choices I made, Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said, biting his lip. He had no idea what Draco's odd mother would want from him. Harry wasn't sure if Mrs. Malfoy was binding him to an oath, or reminding him of what he owed her. Harry couldn't help but dislike that, even though he knew he ought to grateful. Draco. for all his faults, had never made Grimmauld Place feel as though it was a bedsit.

"Then this is all I ask you: never break a promise to my son, Mr. Potter. And never make a promise that you can not keep." Narcissa Malfoy looked almost regretful. "He's had enough of that for one lifetime."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for tea?" Harry asked, feeling guilty now. "Draco should be home soon."

"No," Mrs. Malfoy looked up the stairs where Teddy watched her curiously. "This house belongs to another family now."


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: Hey everyone! Happy break (if you are on break). I hope you are enjoying being lazy as much as I am for the time being. If you are on another schedule or in high school, or a proper grown up, then I apologize for your loss. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. My story is ending, I am so sad! I have loads of ideas, but I don't know. There is no way I would never write a sequel (tri-quel?) to this story though- it would only be cheesy and too generic. But I will miss it, sadly. Grown up Harry and Draco were fun._

_I hope you all enjoyed it too. And of course, review._

* * *

Chapter 26:

"_Merlin_," Astoria moaned, looking over at Draco's garment bag. "I'm the only one left over from our set that isn't married. _I'm_ the old hag!"

"Twenty-four isn't old, Astoria," Smith said, pouring them a few fingers of Odgen's, which made Astoria beam. Her faint hope was dashed in the next moment, when Smith rounded across Astoria's sitting room and sat next to Cho Chang. Cho gave Smith a speculative grin as well, but Smith ignored that as much as he did Tory's bright eyed glances. Draco sighed-he was beginning to regret having Smith stand for him in the wedding party- too many of his single female friends were flinging themselves at him.

"I'm not even married yet," Draco said stiffly. He wasn't going to get married, it seemed- not without being _severed_ to pieces as he kept his female friends apart as they dueled over Smith. Ew.

"No," Astoria countered, passing Draco a cigarette with a smile. "Not until the morning, anyway. Are you getting a case of cold feet, Pushy?"

"No," Draco snorted. A case of cold feet wasn't the same as a case of nerves.

Circe. _Why_ was Draco nervous? He knew he wanted this- he had known that he had wanted this since the first time that he had seen the ring. No, no, even before that. Draco had known that he'd wanted to bond with Harry since he had moved back to London from Darby; that morning he had woken up and felt physically ill at the idea of even being parted from Harry for a few, brief hours while he went to teach. Draco had never told Harry the reason he'd moved back to London, though. He'd wrapped it up in his own mental Pensieve, and let Harry draw his own conclusion. The rest had been his secret- something precious that he kept for himself, a little bit of treacle Hufflepuff sweetness.

But right now, there was fear. Fear that things could go terribly, horribly wrong again. It was the wand's edge of his life, as it had always been. On one side, Draco had been imprisoned by his pride, in his own home, by his own mistakes. On the other side, he had more love, more gold, more fame than anyone needed in any lifetime. It was the bloody, irrational feeling that something could go absurdly wrong that kept Draco's nerves so tight that all he wanted to do was slip away and sleep.

But one wasn't supposed to do that the night before one's wedding.

"Harry Potter is obsessed with you," Cho said saucily while tracing the rim of her firewhiskey glass. Smith looked at her as though he was trying to decide if she was interesting or not, and Astoria was pretending not to notice. Draco wished that everyone was at the point of being pissed enough that they didn't care what happened.

"I should know," Cho smirked. "Never looked at me, like that. He's always undressing you with his eyes. Don't worry, Draco- Harry's not going to be a bolter- he's far too _honorable_ for that."

"Hmm," Astoria said with a look on her face that could only be described as catty. "I wonder _why_ Harry Potter never undressed _you_ with his eyes."

"Because he's _gay_, you-" Cho began and then looked at Draco apologetically. "Never mind. I'll fetch the next round of drinks from the kitchen, shall I? Zach, do you mind helping me carry them back?"

Smith looked far too interested in helping Cho carry back whatever she needed, which wouldn't have been necessary, considering the fact that they all had wands and the fact that Draco was trying to keep the peace between all of them. Draco sighed- he was certain that the Weasley brothers and the rest of the Aurors were taking Harry out and showing him a grand old time tonight, probably at the Red Responders. Draco should have let Astoria convince him to have a Portkey to her family's estate in Greece. Actually, he should have let Harry convince them all that there was no need to separate them a day before their wedding, especially since they weren't at all a conventional couple.

"I'll go with you," Draco said, rising from his seat and not trying to think of Harry and the oak beams of the Aurors pub with envy. Draco was going to need more drinks than a single thirty year old Pureblood witch at a Ministry ball if he was going to manage getting through this night properly.

Cho nodded softly, allowing Draco to pass in front of her and show her where the alcohol was kept. As Draco mixed the first set of drinks (for his _own_ party), Cho began cleaning out the mismatched mugs and glasses that Astoria had piled in her sink.

"I'm being rather awful, aren't I?" Cho asked, handing Draco one of the nicest glasses for himself. Draco raised an eyebrow and took the cup- Cho wasn't the type of girl to hand over anything that was of use, which was exactly why she was having trouble with Tory right now.

"You'd know it if you were," Draco said evenly. He'd learned long ago, during his friendship with Pansy, that no witch liked to have a mirror conjured in her spotty face. _Literally._

Cho sighed, pouring them both a bit of vodka and blackberry juice. "I suppose I _am_ a terrible old creature, aren't I? But isn't it the worst that I am going to a wedding where I am the ex of one groom and the good friend of another without a date? I mean, honestly- all I need to do is to wake up tomorrow and be too fat to fit my robes and then we'd have a new column for the society pages."

Draco swallowed his drink all in one go. All _he_ needed to do was to be too fat to fit his robes and then they would have a story for the front page of the _Daily Prophet, The News of the Globe_ and page eight of the Stateside _Eagle's Gazette._ Draco blinked, staring into his emptied glass. There was morbid and there was mad, and he was rapidly approaching the territory that had been formerly occupied by half of his Black relatives and most of the Janus Thickey Ward.

"You're _nervous_," Cho hissed, and her eyes were dancing.

"I am not," Draco responded evenly. The lie was so blatant that he knew it wouldn't have worked on Teddy; let alone on a grown woman who knew him very well and had been a Ravenclaw.

"You are," Cho replied gaily, topping up both of their drinks with a flourish. "But you have no reason to be. You're happy. You are both _disgustingly_ happy, Draco. I'm surprised that Harry Potter can get through a room with his head as large as it's gotten because of you. You make him very happy, you know."

Draco nodded quickly, and then looked away. He knew that, now. But even up to a year ago he hadn't believed that. He hadn't believed that they would have worked. Draco had been so sure that the cult of celebrity around Harry had been so strong and that Harry had been so utterly subservient to his friends. It hadn't been a good feeling, knowing that he was coasting along in his own relationship. But now he was happy. Still, Draco worried. He supposed he was a chronic worrier, it was his nature. He just wanted to keep making Harry happy, when all his life he'd wanted to sort of make him miserable.

"Whatever you think is going to happen," Cho said evenly, pouring yet _another_ drink. "It's not going to."

"I haven't said anything," Draco protested, wondering just when he had become so transparent to his friends. Had it been when he had gone through all that trouble with Harry or before? The Slytherin in him highly resented being boxed in and defined so very easily.

"No," Cho smothered a grin. "You haven't. Now, let's drink these and see what Greengrass and Zach have gotten up to. And by _Merlin_ if you say each other I am going to scream."

Draco had been hoping for Tory and Smith to get together for as long as he had been hoping for tomorrow to come. Draco paused- _had_ he been hoping to marry Harry Potter? Oddly enough, he felt his own face heat-how very odd, he had always thought that his life was all about his freedom and his liberty from conventional titles, but when it came down to it, Draco had wanted it all just as badly as Harry. Possibly even more than Harry, Harry hadn't run and hid from the force of his own desires as Draco had. But in all the ways that counted, Harry had been the stronger one of the pair of them. Draco could admit that now, and not feel resentment.

"Cho," Draco admitted. "I'm really bloody in love with him. And if you tell anyone that I will ruin you."

"That's sweet," Cho smiled, patting his hand with her red-vanished one. "Let's go and play some drinking games, then."

* * *

"Smith," Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously. "If you stab me with _one_ more pin-"

Smith's grip on his wand slipped, and the pin that he had been spelling to fit through the lily's stem of Draco's boutonnière fell to the ground. Draco sighed as Smith looked down and tried to _accio_ the pin, instead summoning a Muggle writing instrument instead. Smith was a fool, but he was Draco's fool and his friend as well. Draco only wished that he could have borrowed Weasley or Rolf Scamander for the pep talk and dressing up bit. Both men had made it down the aisle in one piece, were family men, and seemed happy in all the disgusting traditional senses. Smith, while an utter genius and a brilliant writer, couldn't find his way out of King's Cross if Draco spun him around.

"_There_," Smith said, dropping the Muggle pen and holding up the pin with pride. "Now, then, Malfoy, according to the literature that I've read and that I've shared with Weasley- I mean to say, it wasn't as though the Weasleys and I were talking about you and Potter, you know-"

Draco thought he ought to throw Smith a lifeline, at least this once. "You're a better writer than you are a public speaker, Smith. Keep to that. Are you trying to tell me that you and Hermione talked about something?"

"Yes," Smith said, nudging Draco out of the way so that he could fix his own hair. Draco sighed, and stepped on Smith's foot purposely with made him yelp and then blush. Usually Draco could put up with a modicum of egotism from Smith, especially since he worked relatively well with the rest of the team on the study; but today was Draco's bloody wedding day, and _his_ hair was the hair that mattered.

"Sorry," Smith blushed again. "What I mean to ask you, is if you are nervous?"

Draco snorted. "I _might_ have been if you'd given me the chance to stop feeling so frustrated-"

Someone knocked on the door. Draco practically leapt up out of his skin- _now_ he most certainly was nervous; it didn't feel as though it should be time for the wedding to start, but Draco was beginning to know what it meant when people said _lost track of time_. He felt his heart start up triple-time and he took several long, deep breaths, hoping to calm himself down just a bit.

"I should get that," Smith said awkwardly and Draco wasn't sure whether if it was more prudent to thrash Smith or hit himself with a stunner.

It was Susan. _Susan Bones_, Draco's blank mind supplied helpfully, as if that would spell-start any rational thought. It did not.

Draco stared awkwardly into the large glass in front of himself quite in the total shock that was so over used as a phrase, his nervousness about his vows completely _Obivilated_ from his mind. It had been more than four years since the last time Draco had seen Susan Bones, when all the ugly and lurid truth about Draco's affair with Harry had become public knowledge through the tabloids. Draco looked at Susan, unsure what to say- Susan looked nearly the same as she had when Draco had been the lover of her cousin; her short pixie hair styled attractively away from her face, her mouth lined with the same red lipstick she had always favored. Draco had forgotten how much he had meant to miss her.

"I should leave," Smith said slowly. Even though he didn't know all about how Draco and Susan had fallen out, Smith did know that Draco had once been the lover of Algernon Bones. _Everyone_ did.

"It's a lovely venue," Susan said politely and Draco nodded. Harry and Draco had chosen a mid-range hotel in Godric's Hollow to host the event. It had been rather a pull-and-tug between them to choose a location. For a long time Harry wanted to have the wedding in the garden of the Weasleys, and Draco rather liked the idea of a location-themed do, especially since they couldn't agree on any places in London. It wasn't until they had seen the _Boar and Phoenix _that they had been completely sold on a location, possibly aided by the fact that it was in Harry's birthplace.

"Thank you," Draco said. "I'm glad you could come."

"I was angry at you for a long time," Susan said softly, tracing the edges of one of the gold and green invitations. "I wanted to blame you for everything that happened. It was rather good for a bit, you know- having someone to resent. But it was also very short sighted. Because it wasn't entirely your fault, Draco."

"Susan," Draco said, biting his lip. He had wanted to hear that from her and he hadn't. While he had blamed himself, he had had the benefit of self-abuse, and self-flagellation. Without the burden of righteous guilt to throw around, Draco didn't know _who_ he would be anymore- he had been blaming himself for Algernon's death for so many years.

"No," Susan waved away Draco's protestation. "You and Al were happy. I know that and you know that, too. But clearly you weren't ever truly happy. I suppose I pushed you into it all- I knew that Algernon fancied you, and I knew that you needed a relationship. We all do at times. You were a coward for staying, too, when you were shagging Harry Potter. But you _didn't _kill him, Draco. You weren't the murderer. And it's been years now. You should to be happy. I know that Algernon would have wanted that for you. He loved you, and I accept that."

Draco smiled awkwardly. He didn't quite know what to say to that. He had always felt as though he didn't deserve the Boneses in his life; Susan with her open acceptance and friendship for him at his worst, and Algernon- but Draco didn't _dare_ think of him today. That was just wrong, rude, and upsetting.

Someone knocked on the door. Draco stared, once again he had forgotten to be nervous- at this rate he was going to forget that he was getting married today.

Susan opened the door with a gentle smile. It was Longbottom, and for the first time in years Longbottom looked as nervous in front of Draco as he had across from him in Potions class. Draco had the absurd notion to laugh- very hard, and very long. He knew then that he _was _extremely terrified.

"Er," Longbottom said and Draco wished that they had taught elocution lessons in Gryffindor. "They're ready to start Malfoy."

"Right," Susan said for Draco. Draco's hands were tingling. In the fingers. He was sure that that was a sign of something, something most certainly not good.

"Are you alright?" Susan asked distantly. "Do you need a glass of water or a moment before we head down?"

Draco shook his head. If he sat down and thought it would just be miserably worse and he'd probably manage a panic attack. Draco closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them. He was oddly grateful that it was Susan in the room with him, and not Smith. For one, Smith was horribly inept as a fellow wizard; and for two Draco had never confided in Smith the extend of his mental health problems after the war had ended. But he had in Susan. Draco gave Susan a wobbly smile- he missed confiding in Susan; when things had been very good between them they had been closer than even he and Tory were right now.

"No," Draco shook his hair, positively ruining the artfully tousled look Cho had tried for not an hour before. Oh well, there was nothing for it now; he was going to have to go down looking as shabby as ever. "I'm fine, thanks."

Susan opened the door and Draco laid a hand on her shoulder. "I mean it, thank you."

Susan smiled brightly. "You're very welcome."

Draco tried to pay attention to what was happening in front of him, but he felt as though he was living in a pantomime. Everything felt as though it was what had happened in the rehearsals- real but so surreal. It all felt as though it had to be a scene from a play that someone had written out for another couple. _Where was Ginny Weasley_? Draco thought stupidly. Surely she should be standing here instead of him. Nothing made sense anymore. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. _Draco Malfoy_ and Harry Potter. Draco was going to be ill. He was going to need a Healer. Did they even _know_ a Healer? Well, there was his Mind Healer, but that didn't count. Oh gods, and Astoria, of course.

Draco was losing his mind. He was going to be married and he was going to end up in St. Mungo. Well, at least Longbottom would have his bit of revenge, he must be waiting for that. Aunt Andromeda and Mrs. Weasley were dressed in their similar peach-gold robes with mint fascinators. Mrs. Weasley looked suspiciously watery and Aunt Andromeda was giving her the famous Black _petrificus_ glare. Sainted Circe, Mrs. Weasley must loathe him. Draco imagined those were tears of frustration, and felt as though he would bubble up in that insane laughter again.

_Oh Merlin_, Draco thought biting his lip. _I should have had some firewhiskey._

Draco was walking. It felt as though someone had put him under _imperio._ That actually wasn't a pleasant memory, learning _imperio_. Draco had no bloody idea why he was thinking about all of this except that he was absolutely beyond nervous and into the realm of deeply and terrifically afraid.

Harry looked so _good_. The sleek, black robes were cut criminally close to his body and it reminded Draco of all the reasons why Draco had fallen onto that sticky sofa in the gay bar all those years ago, begging Harry to take him. Harry's hair had been clipped short, and while it could never be tamed, it looked sleek and lovely and it matched his robes as though they had specifically gone for that bedroom look. Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, Harry's brighter-than ever green eyes shone with hope and joy and anticipation and love.

Draco felt his stomach twist and then unknot itself. _He_ had done that. Whatever else had happened in his present or in his past; he had the ability to make Harry that happy. Draco stored away that look of pure joy in his mind's internal pensieve, hoarding it away like a jewel.

Draco reached for Harry's hands. Across the crowded room, someone blew their nose into a handkerchief and someone else laughed. Somehow that broke up the tension, because then Harry moved closer, knocking his new shoes against Draco's.

"I love you," Draco mouthed.

"I love you more," Harry mouthed, rubbing his thumb against Draco's palm.


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: Hey guys- I hope everyone had a good Christmas, if you celebrate that. I did, it was cool. I actually ended up watching basketball and eating chinese while my sister and her friends updated her fanfic. Yes, she did that on Christmas. She's like the steroid version of me, basically. Anyway, someone was asking me if this story was finished. No, it's not, lol. I don't know if it's a good sign or a bad sign if people want a story to be done. Like they are asking 'can it be over yet'? Anyway in all seriousness, there is about 4 chapters left here. If you are also reading Only Star I have no idea how long it will be, but it will NOT be novel length. So less than 29 chapters for sure. I can guess and say 10, but that's only a guess rn. Sorry I can't be any more clear guys but here we are nearing the end. _

_This is one of my favorite chapters in this story. Let me know what you think._

* * *

Chapter 27:

Draco kicked off his shoes and Harry laughed as he slid down the balcony drunkenly. Inside the fairy lights were still twinkling in time to the music, and Harry could see Ginny and Kirley Duke of the Weird Sisters dancing arm in arm as he taught her a few new steps from his tour. Harry rolled his eyes; Duke was on his third marriage and literally old enough to be Ginny's father; whilst Ginny's boring, morose husband Nott was somewhere inside, speaking to Draco's old coven of school mates who had come from places like Mozambique and New Orleans to bow before their old prince who had regained the tabloid crown jewels.

Harry rolled his eyes.

The whole reception felt a bit like a media circus. Harry had wanted nothing more than to have his wedding in the Weasleys back garden; to watch Teddy and little Victoire try to catch whatever pranks George and Angelina set off in the corridors of the house as everyone rushed to get ready. But Draco made it abundantly clear from the outset that he was not Hermione, and Harry was not Ron Weasley. Harry _had_ admired their wedding, but even Harry had noticed how out of place Hermione's parents had looked at times, amongst _levitating_ trays and wands and robes. Hermione was so magical it was easy to forget that she was Muggle born, and Draco was Pureblooded. Harry had to remember that, he had to be sensitive about what Draco gave up, even when he compromised.

The wedding was amazing, though. The venue was somewhere they both had loved, and at Godric's Hollow. Harry smiled, just thinking about that. It put him in mind about the way things might have been, if his parents would have lived. But Harry quickly closed off his mind to that- if his parents would have lived, then Draco would have possibly been the lover of someone else, and Harry might have married another person. Harry could feel the death knell of his childhood dream, the _what if my parents where here_. To ask for everything would only ruin something now.

"Harry," Draco drawled heavily. Harry suppressed a fond grin. Draco only drawled that lazily nowadays when he was very drunk or tired. Harry had a feeling that Draco was both; Harry knew that he was.

"Harry," Draco commanded sharply, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "Rub my feet."

Harry sighed, pulling Draco's feet onto his lap and sliding his socks off of his feet. "_There_," Harry said, working his thumb into the middle of his foot. "How does that feel, you sodding brat?"

"You can't talk to me like that, Potter," Draco drawled, pausing half-way through a word to yawn before picking it up again. "I'm your husband, now. Or did you only marry me for the access you'd get to my feet?"

"Ugh, _Malfoy_," Harry cried, dropping Draco's foot, and Draco chortled.

Harry had a sinking suspicion that Draco was not only teasing him, but deliberately winding him up, in more ways than one. Harry wasn't a foot man, not by any means, but he was a Draco man, and having any appendage of Draco's near or in his lap for any extended period of time was going to cause a reaction. Harry looked at Draco, beautiful and caramel-brunet in his wedding robes, his chin tucked slightly in toward his chest. That was when it hit Harry, because oddly enough he hadn't had any nerves since the proposal. The repeating of vows hadn't terrified him, but now the enormity of it all woke him up, in spite of his intoxication.

"Draco," Harry said seriously. "We are _married._"

"Yes," Draco said. "I was there, it was very lovely, the _Prophet_ will probably cover the whole thing, must _glamour_ as Smith and get ten copies in case they get pictures we didn't. Oh, Harry- were you drunk at the wedding?"

"No," Harry said, annoyed that Draco could even think that. George Weasley had been at his stag night; Harry had been afraid to touch anything. "I guess I was just flying a broom with automatic-steering, or something."

"_Oh_," Draco smirked, sliding his hand in between Harry's spread legs to cup him. Draco's breath smelled of wedding cake and cheap alcohol and Harry could think of anything more delicious.

"What are you going to steer with that, Potter?" Draco drawled and Harry chortled for no real reason- Draco was so drunk, and if Harry was laughing, it was probably likely that he was pissed as well.

"We should shag," Harry said, as Draco straightened his glasses on his face with faux-sober purpose. "Not drink anymore."

"No," Draco rolled his eyes, trying to get up. Harry rose to his feet and thanked the gods that it was cold out and that he was wearing robes. The cold night air was rapidly sobering him up, and the robes were concealing what was rapidly becoming a painful distraction.

"Come here, pointy chin," Harry said, extending his arms. Draco huffed then stepped once-twice, and landed into Harry's embrace.

"_Accio_'dmyself a Potter," Draco huffed, licking Harry's neck.

"It's what you've always wanted," Harry teased, sliding a hand down to cup one cheek of Draco's backside. Harry sighed- Draco was so bloody _hot_, but the balcony looked over the outside grounds where many of their friends and family had gone out to get air from the indoor party.

"Perhaps," Draco conceded. "Or perhaps it's what you've always wanted. Now, let's go and shag in one of the toilets."

"Loos," Harry laughed, a little widely. "I thought we had sworn that off."

"We _had_," Draco nuzzled Harry's neck. "But we can either try and get through that ballroom without one person congratulating us, or you can Slide-Along us to the toilets right outside this door."

"Right," Harry said breathlessly, brushing a kiss across Draco's lips. If he would have been a bit more sober he would have tried to snog Draco and Apparate them at the same time, but he was sure if he tried that now he would only bungle it horribly.

* * *

The bathrooms at the _Boar and Phoenix_ were all unisex. When Harry and Draco had first gone around to look at venues, Harry had stared at the bathroom doors, bewildered. And then he had been captivated.

Each bathroom had it's own waiting room, and every single one was designed differently. This waiting area was designed like an exotic Amazonian rainforest with wild beasts and climbing vine wallpaper that actually rippled across the wall in a shimmering dance. On the floor was a spongy carpet that mimicked grass, down to it's smell and feel on the shoes, in a group of spells so complex that Harry was sure that it must have taken an expert charmologist to design the hotel. Surrounding the center of the room was a group of white chaises that interlocked to form the shape of a flower.

Draco chose the nearest chaise and threw himself on it, shaking out his hair playfully, which ruined it's styling. Harry laughed, practically leaping on him, and ran a hand through Draco's hair. For the wedding he had cut some of it off, practically to his chin, like when they were in sixth year.

"_Harry,_" Draco moaned, arching his neck back so that Harry's mouth lost it's place and Harry was forced to lick an awkward line from Draco's chin to his collarbone. But Draco didn't complain. Harry sighed, pleased. Everything was so bloody _stuffy_- Harry felt as though he was in the actual rainforest - as if the humidity and the closeness was choking the air out from his lungs, leaving behind only the desire.

"Fucking _robes_," Harry said adamantly. He stared at the long line of buttons dividing him from Draco and Draco's nudity. Harry was far too pissed to handle all of that- he was surprised that he was able to keep up with what he was doing as it was.

"Wand," Draco hissed, biting Harry's ear. Harry cried out, scowling; unsure if he was even more aroused, or if his ear was bleeding.

"Fucking vampire, Malfoy," Harry hissed, rocking back on his heels, which gave Draco enough space to climb out from underneath him and wiggle his wand out from underneath his back trouser pocket. Harry watched him, amazed at the expanse of white-on-white skin that was revealed all at once, due to the spell. Harry felt too dizzy, seeing that- he felt as though something like that, something that beautiful ought to always have a grand reveal in a grand place, and he felt a bit ashamed of bringing Draco so low.

"Are you watching me?" Draco said, cocking his head to one side. His hair brushed his shoulders seductively and Harry wanted to kneel down and thank the gods.

"I'm always watching you," Harry said, moving closer and instinctively Draco backed away, against the bizarre wallpaper of the wall. "Always, _always._"

Draco laughed and then pinked. Harry pulled Draco's hands away from his buttons and took Draco's left ring finger into his mouth, nibbling and biting around the plain band. Harry couldn't feel the magic that he was toying with, but he knew that Draco could, and moreover that he did-Draco's eyes flashed, becoming a wide black with only a thin, narrow band of the familiar grey surrounding them. Harry smiled, teasing around Draco's blunted fingernail; he looked as intense and as curious as a kneazle or a cat, and Harry knew that he had better make this all count.

"Finish unbuttoning them," Harry ordered, hoping against hope that Draco would listen. Getting a Malfoy to mind, even in the bedroom, was like getting Harry to get a potion down correctly- it wasn't a guarantee, even under the best of circumstances.

"_Oh_," Draco moaned, his fingers working faster than Harry's could have and Harry rejoiced for a moment- Draco Malfoy doing his bidding _and_ another loo shag _and_ it was their wedding; he honestly had the best life.

"You had better be worth this, Potter," Draco sighed.

Harry rolled his eyes and lifted one of Draco's legs, so that it was wrapped about his waist; it was a bit of an awkward angle, but Harry was determined, and fueled by alcohol and elation, he really thought that he could work it out.

"Don't be an idiot," Draco drawled. "I'll have sex with you in a loo, but sex with you in a loo against a wall would be a bit much."

"Draco-"

"_Harry_-"

There was a bit of a stand off for a moment. Draco faltered first.

"Let's go in one of the stalls," Draco said, "Because if I wrap my arms around your neck and brace my feet, this just might work."

"You're a genius, you are," Harry praised, taking his hand, and rushing off.

Harry was sweating, and his glasses were slipping off of his nose. All around him he could smell the heady scent of Draco's cologne mixed with alcohol slipping from both of their pores. It was tight in the stall, and it was so _so_ tight as he moved. Harry wanted to keep moving and he wanted to stay, he wanted to _stay_ and gods Draco was perfect and his thighs were clenching Harry's waist and they were missing their own wedding reception but Harry didn't care, because really he was a pants dancer anyway and they were both pissed and this was so so _so_-

"Someone is knocking on the bathroom door," Draco whispered. "_Ah_, Harry, don't bite me there-"

"_S-_sorry," Harry grinned, cockily. Ah, a pun. "Gods, you're fit."

"_Bombarda!_"

Harry slipped, moaned, and went forward, gasping as he felt a rush of light in the back of his eyelids, throughout his body and-

"_Twice_," Hermione hissed angrily. "Twice I've caught you two shagging!"

"You broke in that time," Draco pointed out, pushing a tissue into Harry's hand. "It's your own fault."

"Get outside and dance!" Hermione said, her eyes closed. "With _robes_ on!"

* * *

"I like it here, Harry," Draco said, smiling. Harry knew he was telling the truth, because when he smiled, Draco's nose scrunched up a bit at the end.

Harry grinned widely, taking his hand. Godric's Hollow was a very small village, a _very_ small village. It was no longer the tiny hamlet that Harry had first discovered during the war, but it was still a very small hamlet. Harry thought that that was part of it's charm. There was a fine hotel, a robe shop, a milliner, a rough looking pub that probably catered to the working class sort of wizard, and an post office. That was it. Other than the church, which had been converted into a museum of the war and wounded, there was very little else to be seen in Godric's Hollow.

"Oh _look_," Draco murmured, pointing out a sweets shop. "We should bring something back for Teddy and Rosie. Harry, have you got any gold with you?"

"No," Harry laughed, feeling in his pockets. He had a knut, a sickle, and two galleons. Draco had bled him dry betting on the broom races last night on the wireless. If Harry wouldn't have been half-drunk he would have realized that the game was a refly, but then again, Draco always did manage to catch him off guard.

"I suppose we can ask at the hotel," Draco shrugged carelessly. "Or we can buy against the value of our vaults, but that's so classless."

"I don't want to buy on credit," Harry said stoutly. If he had the money, Harry wanted to pay for it. Using credit like that meant that the people who needed it would never get approved for it.

"Alright," Draco smiled softly, pressing a soft kiss onto Harry's neck. Harry paused; when they were in London, Draco _never_ was half as demonstrative. Harry wondered if it was because they were on their honeymoon or if it was because Draco felt more comfortable away from the media glare they always faced in London. Harry sighed, remembering how deeply it had once affected Draco. He wasn't sure if it still did, but it certainly didn't to the same degree now.

"Is something wrong?" Draco asked. "We can turn back if-"

"No," Harry said seriously. "_No_. I want to share this with you. I want to share everything with you, you know?"

"I know," Draco said, twirling Harry's wedding band around his finger with his thumb as they held hands. "Believe me, if it was an option for me to- well, actually; I don't think I'd want it to be an option for me. I'm quite glad that I can't go back."

"We could," Harry offered. "If you just wanted to, just to even see Wiltshire."

Draco looked down at his feet. The road was simply a dirt path, paved with stones. Each stone had a few words carved into it. Harry looked down; even though he had been here after the war, it still amazed him that so many people had gone to so much trouble for them. For him. Harry paused at one stone in particular- written on it, using a spell that Harry did not know were the words _Potters- our family- taken too soon, but have left us our hero. RIP._ Harry blinked at the adamant feeling behind the words, it felt a bit too much like fan mail.

"No," Draco whispered. "Some places you leave and you feel better because you left, and some places you leave and you wonder what could have happened."

Harry beamed, looking away from the stones.

Harry kissed the side of Draco's mouth, which immediately curled up into a smile. Harry slipped his arms around Draco's waist and spun him around- Draco was so bloody wonderfully perfect, and the day was perfect, and it was his honeymoon and Harry thought that his chest was going to go to bits and pieces if one more good thing happened to him.

"Potter," Draco said, punching his arm. "And in public, too."

"Maybe one day in public." Harry winked. "But I'm a married man now. Anyway, this is the cottage."

Draco tilted his head to one side and stared at it thoughtfully. Harry exhaled heavily- he hadn't realized that he was holding his breath, but showing Draco the place that he had been born and the place that he had almost died for the first time was very important to him. Harry had lost his parents in that house. Harry had lost an opportunity for a different childhood in that once-beautiful stone cottage.

"It's in disrepair," Draco _tsk_'d. "Who owns the Potter cottage, anyway?"

Harry looked at the broken windows and the rude words etched into some of the bricks- apparently teenagers didn't respect what had happened there, even though they hadn't gone as far as full-out vandalism.

"The village of Godric's Hollow," Harry lifted a shoulder wearily. "And me. In equal parts. The ownership was spilt after the war and I went to America. I suppose people thought I was mad, after all those articles came out. I should have fought harder . . ."

"Don't blame yourself," Draco frowned. "They should have given it back to you, Harry. It was yours, that's mad of them."

Harry smothered a grin. Maybe _he_ should have given Grimmauld Place back to Draco's mum. "Hermione and I tried to buy the cottage outright, right after the war but the redspellotape was awful because the Ministry was in shambles. Then, Hermione and Ron tried a few years before you and I got together- so they could give it to me for a gift for a Yule or a birthday, but they were told that the village wanted to turn the space into a museum, which was fine by me. Then the village went and used the old chapel instead."

"The church was probably more structurally sound," Draco said, leaning over the wrought-iron gate. "It's a pity. Well, come on, Harry- I want to see if the graveyard really is as haunted as they say."

* * *

Harry yawned stretching out on the bed. The sun streamed through the blinds and Harry reached on his nightstand for his wand before realizing that he wasn't at home. Harry smiled to himself- it was his last day on his honeymoon, but it had been one of the best experiences of his life, even if they hadn't even left the West Country. Just having the time alone with Draco made all the different. Harry made a vow to himself to really take the time to go on more holidays with Draco more often, even if they weren't trips away. They needed to appreciate each other. Once not valuing each other had nearly driven them apart, and Harry really had a healthy fear of that happening again.

"You're up," Draco pressed a kiss to Harry forehead, right on his scar. "Do you want me to Floo room service for tea?"

"No," Harry yawned again. Then he opened his eyes. Draco was dressed in his usual uniform of tight jeans and a pullover hoodie, this time it was one of Harry's own with the Ministry seal in one corner. Harry smiled at that.

"Where are you going, dressed on your honeymoon?" Harry asked, affronted.

"Gods forbid," Draco rolled his eyes, then he bent down to lace one shoe. "I'm going out to get some air and see the shops- I thought it might be a good idea to finally figure out how to get gold around here. Then I could actually buy something for Teddy and Rosie."

Harry sat up, throwing a bit of the duvet over his crotch for modesty's sake and Draco rolled his eyes again. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Draco shrugged. "I'm going to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes and mock Gryffindors to anyone who'll listen, it will be anarchy. Plus- you really need a shower, you're about to grow mold."

"Sweet," Harry huffed. "See you in a bit."

Harry waited. And waited. And waited. He took a shower, and then packed up the mess that they had made of their belongings, and then decided to fold up what he had packed, very neatly, by hand, _not_ using a spell. Then odd thoughts began to run through Harry's mind. Like what if someone from the press made their way to Godric's Hollow and found Draco and harassed him with questions and Draco tackled the wizard and now they were holding Draco in the Ministry. But they were Floo'ing Draco's next of kin, which was Harry but that was no use since Harry was here, hiding away on holiday-

"Don't grind your teeth, Harry," Draco sighed. "You sound like a creature put on a leash."

"Draco _Malfoy_," Harry said, bounding up from his seat. "You've been gone two hours!"

"Have I?" Draco looked sorry and distracted. "I was only downstairs, Harry; I know I should have told you everything, but I wanted to be sure, and it took a great deal of pull. Actually it took a favor from Apollo Greengrass -"

"What?" Harry said suspiciously. He wasn't sure that he wanted to owe anything to a wizard like Greengrass, even if Astoria was decent enough witch.

"I've bought your parents' cottage," Draco smiled softly. "I thought you might like to have it."

Harry stilled. "You did _what_?"

"Well," Draco said uncertainly. "It still needs quite a bit of work before we can live in it-"

Harry stared blankly. He had known that he loved Draco for a long time, for years and years and years, but now he really _truly_ knew that Draco understood him. That Draco knew his secret heart and his dreams and his hopes for himself. For Draco to go out and scheme and manipulate his father's old friends in order for Harry to have his family's old home- well, it was a very Slytherin sort of thing to do. But it was also a very loving sort of thing to do. Harry could see very clearly that everything that he felt for Draco was not only met but exceeded in his partner. Harry sniffled and wiped his nose- he felt very, very stupid, crying.

"Tosser," Draco murmured, taking Harry's glasses off of his face and pressing his nose onto Harry's wet eyelid. "Don't you know I love you?"

"I don't deserve you," Harry snorted. "Why are you with me?"

"Well," Draco drawled. "I'm a bit of a masochist, really- it all started when you tried to hack me to bits-"

"_Malfoy_!"


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: Hey everyone- these are the last chapters of this story. It's so sad for me, it's like letting go of an old friend. I dunno what else to say but *sniffle*. I have some story ideas banging around in my head that I really want to do, but this story really meant a lot to me, and I'm so happy that a lot of people enjoyed it and stuck by it and found it as interesting to read as I did to dream up. Anyway, I have an idea for another Harry/Draco that will be a bit darker, crueler and edgier- that will involve a twist as well as a child, but I don't know when I will have time to write it. For now, I'm still doing my little AS/S mini-fic, slowly but surely. I hope you guys like that, if you're into that pairing. And yes, to those that asked, they will end up together in the end. _

* * *

Chapter 28:

Draco looked at the Ministry seal. He broke the parchment warily.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Weasley, Ms. Greengrass and Mr. Smith-_

_We have received your request for funding on study BC-96128 provisionally titled: Living Conditions of the Youth in Dismal Alley. While all initial forms and study materials have been complied as per regulations, we regretfully must-_

* * *

"Frankly," Smith began, "I'm not shocked. Brandy?"

"Please," Draco sighed. Usually the drink reminded him of his father, today Draco decided to risk the unhappy memory. Everyone else associated with the study had been too busy to meet with him, and so Draco had done a quick Apparation over to Smith's flat, risking the usual pamphlets, sermons, and educational speeches. But Smith was not in good spirits today, and hadn't mentioned a thing as yet. Clearly the lack of funding for their study had affected him.

"Why aren't you shocked?" Draco said, taking the extended glass from Smith's hand. For all Smith pretended to be a radical, he drank worse than any Pureblood.

"There had been rumblings in the Ministry," Smith said, taking a sip of his drink. "This member of the Wizengamot, that staff witch for the Minister."

"Why didn't you mention anything?" Draco accused, annoyed now. _That_ was Smith's problem in a bloody wand-case. He was all lofty ideals and smug philosophy, but when it came down to putting in the action, Smith balked. Draco took another sip of his drink, allowing the brandy to warm his insides. He was beginning to sound like Harry, even in his _mind_. Did that happen to _all_ married couples?

"What were we going to do?" Smith said, pointing with his index finger in the air as if he was a professor. "We already had Granger on the study- and I had to listen to her rubbish ideas for _months_. This was supposed to be my chance!"

_This was supposed to be my chance,_ Draco thought sourly. He had given up his career for this. Actually he had given up his career to move back home to Grimmauld Place and Harry, not that he would ever, _ever_ say that aloud. Some gambles in this world were worth it. And sometimes you tossed your runes, and you ended up mending a cabinet for a madman. Draco was sensing that this study, despite it's necessity, was becoming a metaphorical cabinet.

"Don't blubber," Draco scolded as if Smith was Teddy. "There _has_ to be another way to secure funding. I just think that we're going about this the wrong way."

"What have we done wrong?" Smith accused, as if Draco sat on the Ministry's approving board. Smith should have just brought the entire bottle of brandy over- this conversation was going to be a long one. "We've played by their rules. We've done _all_ the edits. I've held my tongue for _months_ when I could have lobbied on minor reforms and won. What else could we have done- put Harry Potter as an author on the damned study?"

Draco gave Smith such a venomous look that he was sure Smith had become _petrified_. Harry was tired of being a pawn in Ministerial politics and Draco knew that Harry would no more be a part of this study then he would begin wearing women's robes, and take to the stage in a night-hall revue. On the same note, Draco wouldn't ask him. It would make another break in their relationship- in their _marriage_. When Harry couldn't find a criminal he didn't go moaning to Draco for help.

"Sorry Malfoy," Smith sighed. "I didn't mean any harm."

"_Right_," Draco said, leaving enough space for doubt- and also for future blackmail, in case he ever needed anything from Smith. "Moving on. What can we do to salvage the situation?"

"The girls-" Smith protested weakly. Draco glared at him again. He wondered if he had developed any wrinkles from glaring at Smith so often all through these months. It certainly felt as though Smith was making him old before his time.

"I _said_," Draco repeated, using his fiercest tone. It tended to be the only one which could get through to his erstwhile friend. "What can we do? I'm already here Smith, I'm not going to wait on anyone. Or on any other enticements the Ministry might throw our way, just to shut us up for another few months."

"They might do that," Smith said, rising to top up both of their glasses. Smith had a poky little walk up flat, in the center of Diagon. If Draco thought about it, he did feel felt rather badly for Smith. If Draco lost, it would sting his ego, but he could go right back to teaching- back to his comfortable life with Harry. Smith had few allies in the Ministry.

"So what do you recommend?" Draco said. "Refilling?"

"We'll have to do that too," Smith sighed heavily. "Have you got any fags on you, Malfoy?"

Draco tossed him the entire pack, keeping only four for himself. Harry was on him to quit again, and this time he really _did_ mean to do it. Although quitting in the light of one of the most disappointing turns in years didn't really bode well for his success. Oh, well. Perhaps he'd quit when they moved into Godric's Hollow. Harry probably wouldn't want him smoking in the cottage, anyway.

"Cheers," Smith said, lighting one with his wand. "Harry on you again to quit?"

"Isn't," Draco lied airily, giving into the temptation to light one of his four. "I get winded Apparating these days. It's bad for my health. I really _will_ stop when we move into the cottage. It's like desecrating someone's mother's tomb- smoking in there."

"But the shagging you two will get up to in there isn't, somehow," Smith snorted, refilling both his and Draco's empty glasses.

"That's different," Draco said softly. "That makes Harry happy."

Smith looked skyward, and Draco took a sip of his drink. _This_ drink was the one that was on the edge of being sober and on the edge of intoxicated. Oh well. Draco had earned it, he supposed. He had toiled, day after day, month after month, on that cursed study. He had put all of his knowledge of Arthimancy into it, he had put all of his contacts in Dismal Alley into it-_Merlin_, he had even brought Hermione and Tory into it. Now, Draco could understand what it was like to be a father, and have your child become a disappointment.

Or wish never to speak to you again.

"I ought to call my mother more often," Draco muttered, handing his glass over to Smith for refilling.

"She's continental, isn't she?" Smith asked, sloshing his brandy. Draco remembered that about him, now- at the wedding, Smith had ruined two of the white tablecloths when he had tossed his wine out of his glass. Harry had been _livid_ when the bill had come due, though he had played nice, and hadn't mentioned any of it to anybody.

"No, English," Draco corrected, realizing once more the reason why he couldn't get on better with Smith, including their bumps in ideology. Smith had the annoying habit of forgetting the most necessary talking points about his friend's lives. Draco wondered how he managed at the Ministry. "She moved to France after the war."

"Ah," Smith reached for the brandy, and Draco _levitated_ it out of his grasp. If anyone was going to be playing barmaid in their pity-party it was going to have to be him, it seemed. Smith got pissed just _looking_ at a flask of firewhiskey. "The _noblesse oblige. _Is that why you've taken this study on, Malfoy?"

"Partly," Draco was far enough from sober to admit it.

"If that were true," Smith cried out, as if someone had struck him. Draco rolled his eyes. He didn't mind debating with Smith, really, if he did without the bloody theatrics. "We could _all_ reform the Ministry. We could reform ourselves without the Ministry, Malfoy! Be _reasonable._"

"I am," Draco yawned. Drinking tended to make him saucy and then sleepy and Harry wasn't here. It was a waste of good brandy. "I don't take the stance that the wizarding world is in dire straits, and in desperate need of reform. We've had our Savior, and I'm rather fond of him, actually. I simply want to help some students and their families with Healing care and schooling fees. And then, perhaps, tackling the press."

"What would you have us do, then?" Smith eagerly jumped on that note. "Pass a referendum to censor offensive content? You'd be more of a reformer than me. And then there would be no free press, Malfoy. Not that I entirely blame you, all points considered."

"That's not what I said," Draco said, reaching for the bottle with a surprisingly slack hand. He wished Harry was here now, to cuddle up with. Harry was so warm and wonderful, but Draco had the sneaking suspicion that Harry was a little bit terrified of Smith and his pamphlets. Whenever Smith came through Grimmauld, Harry found something, _anything_ to do. At times Draco encouraged Smith a little, just to watch the mouse and the kneazle race.

"Firstly, I wasn't talking about the press, I was rambling," Draco said, his tongue a little thick in his mouth. It was a lucky thing Smith lived close to Grimmauld. "Secondly, I was only speaking about my own motivations in creating this study- and _yes_, they were largely moral. Weren't yours?"

"Of course," Smith said, with grand self importance as he stared at his empty brandy bottle. Draco was going to have to stop him if he rose for another.

"But you also joined up because it would boost your career," Draco pointed out.

"I don't see the problem in that," Smith sniffed, lighting another cigarette. "I wasn't hurting anyone."

"I'm not saying you were, you giant shit," Draco said irritably. "I'm just pointing out the dual nature of things. And most people know of Dismal Alley, and they, like the Ministry, have done nothing."

"What about Harry?" Smith persisted, which Draco rather resented. Harry was _not_ an option. "What would he have done if you would have dropped the study?"

"I believe he wanted to back reform through another means," Draco said, remembering that long-ago row. It felt like another life, and he felt like another person. "Funding the study. Bringing it to light in some way, or perhaps backing another politician. I think Hermione would have always picked it up, whenever she found it. She's got the Sight for causes. The only problem with that was that it would have taken more time."

"It's _taken_ more time now," Smith groaned, knocking over the last dregs of the brandy in the bottle. Draco glared at him, as if he was still a teacher, and Smith was one of his disobedient little students. Draco _knew_ he ought to have _levitated_ the bottle further out of Smith's grasp, but he had hoped that Smith was so far gone that his judgment of distance was impaired. Never mind. This was all a cosmic sign that Draco ought to be going. Too much time in Smith's company, and Draco began to fear for his appearance and his mental health.

"Yes, well," Draco said, struggling to remember what they had been talking about as he rose. "We'll just have to wait and talk to the witches. I'm going to be off now, Smith."

"You're going?" Smith said mournfully. "I just got in the new Russian manuscripts. You said you were particularly interested in their reform of the school system in the Siberian district."

"Bring it over on Thursday," Draco muttered, fixing his hair. Thursdays were Harry's day off, and it would be fun to see them navigate each other. "We'll talk then."

* * *

Draco made it halfway down Diagon, before he realized that he shouldn't be walking outside, pissed on his own. The alleys were always rife with fans of Harry's, who would love to take a photograph of anything related to him to sell to the tabloids for their bit of fame. Draco didn't understand their mentality- if they professed to love and admire Harry, then why couldn't they leave him alone? Why didn't let him have his bit of space to work at the very least, and have his own peace of mind? Did the old storylines _ever_ get tiresome to them?

Draco didn't understand why everything that went along with Harry had to be packaged and then sold as manure for the entertainment of the masses. It was disgusting.

Draco couldn't wait for the cottage to be done. It was going to be _their_s. Draco was done with London. It had wrung him out, and depleted all the joy of socializing from him, not that Draco had ever been much of a _goer_. Even the little places that Draco had loved, like the tea shop he used to visit with Susan Bones, had lost it's luster. Now, Draco simply wanted peace. His marriage was going to be safe from the world. It was _his_ own thing- pure and beautiful and timeless. Nothing would ever come between himself and Harry again.

Thankfully, Draco made it into Grimmauld Place without being photographed or being hounded. A good day, he supposed, but it wasn't the sort of life he wanted anymore. Tensing every time he left the house, crossing his fingers for a good Apparation. It wasn't normal. And it did something odd to his mind; nothing awful he supposed, but nothing good either.

Everyone deserved to be a part of the world.

Draco walked up the stairs to the study, but then he decided not to try to do anything much. He most certainly needed to sober up a bit before he made any Arthimatic changes to the study. Draco found himself on the long sofa in the room instead, his head curiously disjointed. Draco would _not_ admit to himself that it was because of the brandy. Draco closed his eyes wearily- the sofa was _such _a comfort. He wondered lazily how many of his ancestors had put their heads upon this sofa after a trying day, and had had some relief.

The _study_. The first proper time in Draco's odd, twisted life that he had tried to enact some widespread, positive change in the world and it had lead nowhere. _That was what he got for encroaching on Gryffindor territory,_ Draco thought bitterly. Then Draco shook his head. That was wrong and it was ridiculous. They were long out of school and the rejection of the study had nothing to do with old House politics.

Instead it had to do with new, post-War politics. Draco yawned. There was really no way to appease the government and pass the study. The government had, in a sense, laid the foundation for the problem, exacerbated the situation, and then ignored it. By passing the study, they would be admitting they had done wrong. Draco had _never_ seen the Ministry do such a thing, and his father had been political.

_Father. _Draco hadn't thought of him in so long. Draco felt the guilt creep up on him like a lion rearing it's ugly head. Father would have _murdered_ him now, but once he would have gotten over it, he would have enjoyed the challenge of a study like this. Perhaps that was what drove Draco. Perhaps he was more like his Father than he thought . . .

When Draco opened his eyes it was dark, and there was a large, shadowy figure above him. Draco immediately reached for his wand.

"_Lumos_," Draco mumbled.

"You should be a faster draw, Malfoy," Harry accused.

"If all assailants were this fit," Draco drawled, still half-drunk on the brandy he hadn't slept off, "You'd be in trouble. You left work early today, Potter."

"Slag," Harry scolded, his cheeks a bright pink. He picked Draco's head up from the corner cushion where it laid with pissed grace and placed it gently on his lap. Draco smiled to himself. Harry was always so careful with him, so loving. As if doing anything too dangerous would break him. Even in their roughest moments, Harry treated him like a treasured bit of china.

Draco snorted. He was being _far_ too fanciful- he ought to have drank some water when he first got in. Or perhaps a cup of strong tea.

"What if someone would have come in?" Harry said, stroking his fingers through Draco's hair idly. _Oh_, Draco recognized _that_ tone in Harry's voice. He hadn't come home early because he had had a bad day, and seen something awful, or because he was avoiding a mound of parchment work. No- Harry wanted something else entirely. Draco smirked to himself, leaning into Harry's hand for a bit of encouragement.

"No one would have," Draco said, squeezing a bit of Harry's cloak in his hand. The red was a bit faded, and the hem was a bit frayed. Draco was going to convince Harry that he needed to sit in Gladrag's for new uniforms. Harry never seemed to think he needed them unless a suspect managed to _banish_ them, unfortunately.

"Yes, well," Harry grumbled, annoyed about something. Probably working up to that shag. Draco pouted up at him a little, sticking out his upper lip- Harry tended to enjoy the _sixth year petulant_ variety of Draco. Harry smiled faintly at that and traced his lip, just as Draco felt Harry's body's reaction. _Good, good._

"I heard about the study," Harry said, toying with the edge of Draco's collar. "I'm so sorry, darling."

Draco nodded, the sting of defeat back in the atmosphere. Once _again_ he had failed at something that had mattered. What was it worth in the end, anyway? In Slytherin terms, Draco already had all the success necessary for one lifetime. He had captured the love and fascination of a wealthy, powerful and celebrated wizard, who dominated the elite culture. Draco was well off in and of himself- he had his own family; his own friends, his own heir. What else did he need?

He need to make things _right._ Draco didn't know when that had begun to matter, but it had. The difference between right and wrong; the difference between survival and _living_. It _mattered_. People ought not to be caged.

Was this what it had been like for his Father, in the beginning? Had the Dark Lord perverted an idealistic young man? Or had his father always been someone who had been easily brought and easily sold? Draco didn't know, and the only person whom he could ask was too distant now. It was all so depressing. Draco had put up a ward between the past and himself in that way; and now he could see that he was no different that the parts that had formed him. If only the parts would help the whole. But Mother was no longer interested in playing a part in British culture-

"You've flown away," Harry touched Draco's sharp chin lovingly. The moment for that shag had probably gone, Draco thought a little mournfully. "And you smell a bit like a brewery."

Draco laughed. "I went to Smith's. I tried Hermione first, but she was probably at the Ministry."

"Ah," Harry looked a little relieved. "And I tried you, but you were probably with Smith. I was a bit worried that you had gone off to some pub with Astoria, and that a man with a mustache had stolen you away from me."

"With a _mustache_?" Draco snorted. For some things Harry had the most active imagination, he really was _just_ like Teddy. "I wouldn't leave you for a wizard with a mustache; I'd leave you for one who didn't bring his dirty boots into my clean hall. I really _am_ thinking about getting a service to come in just to clean up after you, Potter. It's like living back in Slytherin."

"I bet you were a bossy little Hit Wizard," Harry looked positively wolfish. "I bet you had all the blokes cleaning up after you, Malfoy."

Draco grasped a handful of the mended red uniform and tore the threadbare fabric at the hem, watching Harry's green eyes light up. Playing Gryffindor and Slytherin was one of their favorite games; but it wasn't often that Draco got to play the wicked, authoritarian master. It _would_ be a change of pace from their usual form, and judging by Harry's smirk, Draco would be put through his paces.


	29. Chapter 29

_A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this chapter is late, but I had the flu! I tried to reason with the flu and tell it I had the flu shot and that I had classes and a New Year's resolution and a social life and all that good stuff, but nothing. Still got sick. Anyway, I hope everyone likes this chapter. I think there's going to be one more real chapter and then the epilogue which is a few years in the future. I'm so sad this story is over! It was like a huge project, and I guess in a sense it's a relief I actually pulled it off, but in another sense I want to keep the soap opera going for 20 years. But nevermind. There's AS/S to write, and I did not forget about that story! I will be updating as soon as I am a bit better, so sorry y'all._

* * *

Chapter 29:

"Check," Ron declared.

"How do you reckon?" Harry protested, bewildered.

"I'm not going to tell you," Ron sighed as if put upon. Harry rolled his eyes. Ron took each chess game personally, as if he was playing in the World Wizarding Chess Cup. Actually- Ron could. Maybe in another life.

"Just keep watching," Ron smiled, then he added smugly, "As you lose."

Harry rolled his eyes. They were in Ron's old garish childhood bedroom, complete with cot bed and springs, and Cannons poster on the wall. Harry smiled at it, the sight of it warming something deep down, almost to his toes. Today was their monthly family visit- well, Harry's date for his monthly visit. Harry was fairly sure the entire family couldn't fit in the Burrow on the off season when the house wasn't magically expanded.

"I give up," Harry sighed, knocking down the last of his white pieces. A few of them scrambled to hold onto the board, but most of his men gave up in defeat.

"Git," Ron huffed, spelling the pieces back into the drawer. "That set is an antique now. Charlie gave it to me."

"Merlin," Harry sighed, relaxing onto the cot. It _squeaked_ in protest at Harry's bulk, and Harry frowned down at the bed warily. Somehow he had recalled the cot being larger, or perhaps he had been thinner. Draco _had_ warned him against buying all those crisps at the shops, but Harry had been hungry when they had gone out to the grocer's. Still, Harry _did_ chase suspects.

Well, mostly they Apparated, but honestly.

Harry poked his stomach. It was hard, all muscle.

He wouldn't ever admit it, not even to Ron, but Harry let out a little sigh of relief.

"Harry," Ron began again, _too_ casually. "How's the cottage going?"

"Good," Harry said, warming to the new topic. Draco had mostly left Godric's to him, even though they were both going to live in the cottage. Harry could tell it was conscious decision on his part, a tangible wedding present and something more- something that was Harry's own; that he could build, and meld, and, shape to make in his own likeness. Harry knew why Draco had done it and why neither of them were talking about it. Even in a marriage some thing were just not said. Harry could appreciate Draco because of this, he really, _truly_ could. Draco understood him better than any other person alive, and he didn't make any other demands of him. He just wanted Harry to be happy.

"We're still deciding on the layout upstairs," Harry said eagerly. "We were thinking of two guest bedrooms, a study, and an upstairs bath. My parents only had one guest bedroom, but we could make one into Teddy's room. We'll see. _Then_ we have to make time to see that Unspeakable about the wards."

"Circe _and_ Morgana," Ron whistled. "Well, I reckon, it's still smaller than Grimmauld either way you hex it. Are you doing _fidelius_?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. He had researched the best in wizarding warded home security with Draco, Bill, and an old coworker of Bill's who had gone into business for himself. "And another set of wards based off our marriage rites. The cottage will be untraceable."

"Good," Ron nodded fiercely and inside Harry smiled a little, thinking back to the days when he could barely be sure of Ron's approval of his relationship with Draco. To be sitting here, in the Burrow, talking about his _marriage_ and his new home, felt like amazing. In fact, it felt like a little miracle.

A companionable moment of silence passed before Ron spoke again. "How is Draco taking the set back on the study?"

"Er," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. This line of questioning could only lead to disaster- what _was_ Ron thinking? "You know Malfoy."

"Ah," Ron said sagely. "You don't need _muffliato_ to tell me."

To tell the truth, Draco had mostly been silent about his upset. In fact, Draco had taken to being out all day, for long hours. Harry hadn't thought to feel paranoid until he couldn't find Draco for the fifth day in the row, with Cho's face smirking over in Dispatch. Finally, Harry took off from work to sate his rampant curiosity, _not_ jealousy, only to feel like a bit of an idiot. Draco had been visiting the bookshop in Godric's Hollow, flying there on the broom Harry had given him. Then he would eat lunch in the cemetery by Harry's parents graves, and leave.

Harry had wanted to rush over and hug him, he was so touched.

But he knew he would only probably end up getting into trouble for being a noisy, fearful git.

"He's flying a lot now," Harry said, by means of an explanation. For some reason Harry didn't want to leave Ron with the impression that Draco was getting on him. No, their life was generally quiet. Harry smiled. In fact, he quite liked it that way.

"Never thought it was any different," Ron said glumly and Harry looked at him, confused. Ron leaned back on the bed, reaching for one of the old, dusty pillows behind his head; folding it in half in order to make himself a bit of a prop. Harry was certain that Ron didn't wish Draco or himself ill- so something had to be wrong with him. But Ron came into work everyday and did his work and all of Harry's paperwork, most of the time. It just didn't make any sense.

"Are you alright, Ron?" Harry asked, still trying to work out if he had missed any cues that a better friend would have caught.

"I _think_ Hermione's pregnant again," Ron said.

"_Think_?" Harry repeated in the same tone, baffled. "Wouldn't you know?"

"Can't tell yet," Ron shrugged. "She told me right away with Rosie. This time she's being all _quiet_. She won't let me hug her a certain way, and when I told her I didn't like her robes this morning she called me _a sneering, sadistic simpleton._ Then she went and made us both tea and said I was right- that they _did_ make her look crumpled."

"Maybe she's just upset because of the study," Harry said, trying not to laugh at the thought of Hermione calling Ron a _sadist_ in crumpled robes. It was better than a flock of birds at any rate, the old girl was losing her touch. "Maybe Draco can talk to her, and they can edit the paper-"

"It's _not_ the study," Ron said, sitting up abruptly. "Don't say that to her, I did last night, and I nearly got one of Rosie's toys spelled at my head! Besides, she won't even let me in the loo with her anymore. Does Malfoy let you in the loo with him?"

"Er," Harry thought of trying to tame his hair this morning while Draco took a shower. Or did Ron mean like when they had a shag in the bath with candles and they used the special taps-

"Never mind," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Newlyweds. I remember those days. I also remember how soon they're gone."

Harry rolled his eyes. He remembered back when he had been hesitant to get engaged, and Ron had been the one to plant the seed in his mind. The only reason Ron was in a mood today was because Hermione had chewed him a new one. Harry couldn't say he blamed her, though. Well, _if_ Hermione was pregnant, anyway. Harry didn't know much about witches, but he did know that accusing one of being pregnant when they weren't was an offense that got a bloke sent to a metaphorical Azkaban.

"Do you want another one?" Harry questioned, asking the far safer question at the forefront of his mind.

Ron nodded eagerly.

"I'd have a Burrow full," Ron smiled wistfully. "Well not _full_. I remember growing up. There was never enough of anything going around, except colds and hand-me-downs. _And_ jumpers. But I reckon we could handle one or two more on our budget, and without having to move. But you know Hermione. She can't see herself being a mum, and a crusader. She wants to save the world."

"You _could_ do both," Harry said, pounding the mattress. He wasn't even sure _why_ he felt so adamantly against stereotypes, except that he had the been the victim of quite a few of them in his day. Hermione should be able to work and juggle her children, and Draco should be able to change the world, no matter his past, and Harry should be able to-

Well, Harry didn't want anything right now.

Odd that. He beamed to himself.

"Newlywed," Ron snorted. "I hope that Malfoy is-"

"Are you talking about _me_?" Draco questioned, coming at that exact moment. He strode in, cocky and bright and gorgeous in a pair of painted on old jeans, and Harry's favorite grey t-shirt; _levitating_ three cups of tea in front of himself. Harry tried not to smile too hard. He didn't want to make Ron feel like the third wheel, or any more upset than he was after Hermione's crumpled-robe incident of earlier today.

"Not really," Harry said, rising to assist Draco. He also had to resist the urge to kiss Draco on the neck when he took two of the tea cups. Ron was right- marriage _was_ difficult, after all. "Ron's just complaining about something that happened earlier today. Thank you for the tea." "Hermione's mental," Ron decided to share his grief with Draco as Draco sat down on the lone chair in the room. "Do you think it's-"

Harry glared at Ron so hard he nearly turned to dust. If Ron brought up the study and made Draco upset, Harry would make sure to make Ron upset at work.

"Do you think that it's got something to do with a secret?" Ron finally continued lamely. Poor Ron. If Hermione _was_ pregnant Harry would take him out to the Red Responders, just like the last time. But if she wasn't, Ron was going to have to learn how to keep his big gob shut.

"I wouldn't have the slightest idea about your wife's secrets," Draco said far _too_ archly. Harry smiled at him. Smug little Slytherin. He didn't have a clue, but he wanted to play as if he had, just to dangle the tarot deck in front of Ron's face. Some things would never change.

"You _would_ say that, you dirty snake," Ron groused.

"Ask Hermione," Draco retorted, rising from his chair. "All I know is you tell her she looks bad in robes. Everyone knows that the only answer to those kinds of questions is _you look lovely, darling._ Right, Harry?"

"Er," Harry snapped to attention. "Right, Malfoy."

Draco beamed.

* * *

"Ron," Harry began. "Do you ever feel as though you are too daft to be who you are?"

Ron paused underneath the lamplight, as though considering Harry's statement. Robards hadn't even allowed them the courtesy of going home after they had finished their scrolls of paperwork, instead, they were now strolling the familiar route of Occasion Alley's boutique shops, monitoring for crime. Harry had even passed the designer jeweler's where he had gotten Draco's ring. Harry smiled at the shut shop window, the velvet curtains drawn tightly over the high glass panes. Somehow, even the innocuous fabric and wood seemed friendly and loving, now that it was pared with one of the happiest memories in his life.

"I dunno what you mean, mate," Ron shrugged. "Is this a Hermione thing, or a Malfoy thing?"

"Dunno," Harry said, kicking a stone. It was really a _Draco_ thing, he supposed. Everything was so _wonderful_. Harry was more than happy, every day he got to do what he loved, and he went home to the person he loved more than any other in the world. Everything had come at so little a price.

For him, that was.

For Draco, everything had come at the greatest price. Draco had let go of his career as a teacher, and his dream to research. But it was before that, wasn't it? Draco had lost so many people, maybe even more than Harry himself. He had lost his father, he was estranged from his mum and the Boneses, though things were better on that front. Parkinson was long gone, Zabini was gone, Crabbe and Goyle, all of his Slytherin set.

Did Draco ever wish Harry hadn't cost him so much? Or would bring him more?

If Harry knew of a way, he'd fix it so Draco could have what he most wanted out of the world, without the prejudices of the worst of society interfering.

But Harry supposed that that was what true love was, wasn't it? Harry was willing to do anything to make Draco's dreams come true. And Draco was wiling to give up his dreams, buy Harry's parent's cottage, and play a role which wouldn't emotionally satisfy a teaspoon.

They were at an impasse.

"I've got a grey hair," Ron said, apropos of nothing. "I found it yesterday when I was taking a shower. Hermione said I should take it out with my wand, but I left it in, I felt like the gods had put it there for a reason, y'know? Do you think I'll be going prematurely grey?"

"Dunno," Harry scratched his head. "Your dad isn't grey."

"Yeah," Ron muttered as they strolled. "I just can't go grey before my dad and my brothers. Bloody hell."

As they rounded Occasion and past Diagon, the shops became a small residential district. Harry steeled himself. Whenever he and Ron walked through this lovely, overpriced neighborhood, it was as though the shutters on the windows suddenly opened, and the wards quickly lowered. Harry pushed his hair over his scar awkwardly, and then huffed at his own foolishness. Even though he couldn't see the eyes, his Auror senses meant that he could _feel_ them on him- watching as though they were pawing through one of their silly, useless mags.

Ron's head jerked up and instinctively Harry's hand closed on his wand. Nothing happened. In the distance, though, a shadow- a flicker of a candle behind a curtain; or perhaps a figure darting behind their wards.

"Does me in, this," Ron grumbled.

"Robards does this to remind us," Harry sucked in a long breath. "I wish I could figure out a way to use this all to our advantage."

"This isn't a case, mate," Ron stared at Harry as though he was trying to puzzle out the particular ailment Harry had acquired. "And anyway, we're done, thank the gods. Let's get back to the Ministry."

* * *

Harry walked into a silent, dark cottage when he got home. It wasn't surprising- Cho had told him that Draco was planning to go to Kent and make a night of it. Still, it didn't make it any less lonely. Harry stared at the smaller living room, furnished with all of the pieces they had picked out together, with Draco's Egyptian throws, and Harry's rug by the Floo. It was a beautiful little sitting room. But it was a bit sad- wonderfully sad to be here without Draco there to share it with him; to put his caramel head in Harry's lap, and to quarrel with Harry over the wireless. Harry was almost certain that this was the first time he was alone in the cottage without Draco. It felt foreign. For some reason he wanted a lot of candles lit.

Harry forced himself to get up from the sofa and head to the kitchen. He was hungry and he needed a shower, but he wanted food more than he wanted a bath right now. Thankfully, today he wasn't so filthy after work that bathing was the primary objective. Still, Draco would have rowed with him.

_Take a shower,_ Draco would have groaned. _You mangy beast, _

That put Harry in mind of the cat. Where _was_ she? She usually came trotting down the stairs whenever either of them came home from work, ready to use her to beg for food. Harry hoped that she hadn't been left out. Once she had, and Draco had nearly died, though he had pretended to nonchalant about the whole affair.

"Cat," Harry called, and then added in her name. "_Allison_."

This was humiliating, even alone. Harry _accio_'dher cat food bag, with it's moving photographs of leaping, playful kittens. Umbridge would have loved it.

"_Alli-son,_" Harry sang, trying to mimic the way Teddy did it. "_Alli-_"

A sudden noise made Harry jump. So much for his Auror senses. Or maybe he turned them off when he got within the confines of his own home.

It was Draco. He was wearing Harry's favorite tracksuit bottoms with vest that had paint on it from one of Teddy's failed experiments. He was carrying Allison. The little demon didn't even think of using her claws on Draco's bare arms; in fact, she was staring up at him adoringly.

"I want a crup," Harry said dryly. "Or even a dog will do."

Draco smiled, but the smile was watery and weak. Harry stared at him, a feeling of dread tugging at his insides. Draco hadn't come to the door, Draco hadn't been there to see him when he got home, Draco was once again going through the motions of life-

"Something is wrong." Harry said, sitting down on the nearest stool. Harry steeled himself for any reaction. Draco used to avoid telling him what was on his mind. He might do that again.

"Nonsense," Draco said simply, placing Allison on the ground. The cat scurried away, as though she could sense the altercation looming in the air. Harry adjusted his sleeve awkwardly. There was a bit of a grease stain on it, from something- he wasn't sure what. Maybe takeaway.

"I made pasta," Draco continued, idly. "It's under _stasis_."

"Ah," Harry smiled. It was only pasta. "Thank you."

Something had to be done. Soon.


End file.
